Reconciliation
by balai
Summary: It's hard to forget, but even harder to forgive. Harder, but still possible. Especially when each day adds new memories, both good and bad. But in the end, forgiveness is all you need. Sequel to Storm.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: .ForeverFrozen. aka Annabella**

**Rated T for language and..well, just stuff.**

**Pairing: M/R (eventually; work in progress)**

**This story takes place about four years (well, three and a half if you want to be technical; what, with Storm taking place in the spring...) after the events of Storm. Alfea's long finished and therefore all the girls and guys went off to start their lives. I'm not going to mess with the whole Enchantix/Believix/Roxy crap or with the girls all teaching at the school together. Because believe it or not, girls have lives outside of their BFFs (haha, that wasn't meant to be offensive or anything if anyone took it that way).**

**I know that Storm ended on an awkward note, but I'm hoping that this will dissolve that mostly. Well, not this chapter particularly, but the story in general. Also, I'm going to try to make the people more in character now that the storm has passed (i.e. Musa not cussing like a sailor, Helia not punching walls and yelling, Layla not being a bitch...etc.)**

**So, enjoy? Et merci!**

**

* * *

Chapter 1.**

_Reconciliation: the ending of conflict or renewing of a friendly relationship between disputing people or groups. The making of two or more apparently conflicting things consistent or compatible._

Musa scoffed in laughter. They had a public service announcement about making up with each other? Who was going to take the time to read a poster about making friendly with people who fucked with them?

The bell above the door dinged. Musa looked up, an angry red handprint on her face where she'd been leaning for the past hour, and stared at the family as they walked in and stopped to stare at the walls covered in outdated motivational posters and painted a drab colour of beige. She couldn't shake the feeling that she knew them, this woman walking in with dull violet and grey hair writhing in the air like tendrils, and two little girls, no older than three years old, holding onto each arm as they tottered along beside her. The woman had already sat in a booth facing away from the blue haired fairy by the time she thought to take the time to figure it out.

Every time someone came into the diner, Musa wondered _why_. The light fixture in the center of the room sparked and died.

Musa's gum popped over her face. "Damn," she cursed. She reached up and began to peel the pink candy from her skin and she gathered up her notepad and pen, stuffing them into the black apron tied around her waist. With her gum back in her mouth, Musa brushed her bangs away from her face and pulled the striped candy-red stockings up higher as she walked across the tiled floor covering the dimly lit restaurant.

"Welcome to Libby's where you get great food with a smile," she said in almost monotone as she approached the table. Musa rolled her eyes because the truth was that the food _sucked_. She smirked and looked at the the little magenta haired girl (fashioning a heart clip) smiling up at her in heartfelt innocence. "It's great as long as you don't order anything that's on the menu." Musa winked.

The little girl laughed a high tinkling sound that brought a genuine smile to Musa's face for the first time in months.

"On that note," Musa said with a sigh, turning to the little girls' mother (who she still _swore_ she recognized), "what can I get you today?"

The girl's mother chuckled, turning her stormy green eyes up at her. "Is that cheerful introduction why you have so many customers?"

The restaurant was too quiet for her with its only other occupant being an one-hundred-and-four year old man who came in every morning for the same meal of undercooked bacon and porridge. Musa still wasn't sure how he could eat either without any teeth.

Musa shrugged. "It's a living." Musa's eyes balked and she scraped a wad of blue gum from the corner of the table. "Not a good one though," she allowed.

The mother looked towards her little girls. The dark haired one looked bored out of her mind. "Nieve, stop kicking your sister."

The dark haired girl's dark eyes enflamed. "Taisie started it!" She pulled on her sister's hair and the pink-haired girl pouted and scooted away.

"I don't care who started it, young lady; that is no way to behave in public."

Musa shrugged. "It's better behaviour than most. You should see the owner on his angry days—Libby—yeah. There's a sight to behold." Her nose scrunched. "Then you throw it up."

The woman's eyebrow arched. "I didn't know Libby was a man's name."

She looked over at the kitchen. "It isn't, but that's what he says. I don't think I'd ever want to imagine him PMSing and the last time someone asked that he pulled his pants down in front of everyone"—she shuddered—"so we don't say anything."

The woman's face screwed up in disgust.

"MUSA!" Musa turned around to see her boss standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his face absolutely red with anger.

Musa groaned. "I'm with a customer, Libby!"

"No you're not," Libby shouted back, his face growing redder by the second. "You're fired."

Musa's jaw dropped. She looked to the family quickly—"Excuse me."—and stormed into the kitchen where her boss was sweating vastly over the stove.

Libby was a man—a poor excuse for one, anyway—of medium height with greasy greying dull brown hair. He was always sweating, even in the dead of winter, and judging by the smell you received if you walked too close, he never seemed to take the time from his '_busy schedule_' to remedy the fact. The man could have been hiding a whole other person in the flesh hanging from his midsection and Musa assumed that all the extra bacon grease from their '_morning rush_' went into keeping his current hairstyle.

"Did you just say I'm fired?" She asked, hoping that something had momentarily lapsed her ability to hear.

"Yes. You're making me lose customers. Now get the fuck out of my restaurant, you whore." Libby stirred a pot of molding porridge on the stove top with his hand that looked to have never been washed in his life.

"What; all of your two customers a month?" Musa gritted her teeth. "I need this job, Libby." Nothing in her _wanted_ the job by any means, but since the record company had rejected her album, it was all she had.

The 'man' turned to her and loomed over her. Musa stepped back to escape the ripe smell. "So what? I need to get laid. I don't give a fuck what you need." She wiped a spot of spit from her nose.

Her fists clenched. "How am I supposed to pay my rent?" she asked him, knowing that his answer would probably just make her angrier.

Libby's beady eyes probed over her from head to toe, staying particularly long over areas that had her squirming at the violation. "Prostitution," Libby stated. "Though you probably already do that just for the fuck of it."

Musa's eyes widened, flashing in fury. "You fucking ass!" Musa untied the apron from her waist and threw it at Libby's sweaty face. She pushed through the kitchen doors and grabbed her coat from behind the front counter. She may have needed money, but this wasn't worth it. "What kind of a name is Libby, anyway?"

"Better than _your_ stripper name." Libby stepped out from the kitchen, his oversized gut moving as he walked and talked. "You storm right on out of here, slut. You need me more than I need you."

Musa laughed bitterly and stared the man down. "That's a load of bullshit and you know it. You're the one who needs me." She pointed a pale finger at her brunette co-worker, sitting in the back corner stabbing her prized dagger into the table. "You really think Charlie's going to stay here on her own?" Charlatan looked up at the mention of her name, her piercing green eyes narrowing at the sight of her vile boss. How she hated the man—she believed in keeping her enemies close.

"Where the fuck else is she gonna go? Ain't no one's gonna hire a dirty thief," Libby jibed. Charlie held up her glinting knife as she stared at him, as if contemplating where she most wanted to stick it. Charlatan had wanted for almost five years to slice the poor excuse for a man. However…it was 'illegal'—a concept that had Charlie scoffing whenever it was pointed out. "Just like you," he continued stupidly. "You may be all that in the _harmonica _nebula, _princess_, but here you're just another worthless nobody who can't make it anywhere."

Musa threw her hands up in the air. "I'm so _relieved_ you finally fired me, Libby. I'd hate to work here any longer; I really would." She looked over at her short-haired co-worker. "I'm really sorry I'm leaving you alone with this dick, Charlie. I'm not going to stay another minute."

Charlatan bolted up from her seat. "Musa, wait up a second!"

"You keep walking, whore!" Libby yelled as she opened the door. "I better not see your skanky ass cluttering up my diner anymore!" Libby looked over at the frightened looking children with their mother that Musa had been talking to and looked away in disgust. He hated children. "Charlie, take care of my customers!"

As Charlie ran past their table, she set a set of plastic utensils down. "Awfully sorry about all this; be with you in a moment," she rushed out in her thick cockney accent. "Musa!"

Musa stopped outside the door, shrugging her coat on over her low cut uniform. She hated that he made them wear such revealing clothes; short shorts and a shirt that barely passed as such. Musa tightened the long jacket around her, the November air biting at her skin instantly. She ran her hands through her hair, pulling them out of the pigtails she despised.

Charlatan bolted to a stop in front of her. The brunette looked down at her and frowned. "You're really leaving me here alone with that guy?"

Musa shrugged. "He fired me. I can't do anything about it."

Charlie bit her lip. "I could get you your job back," she offered, completely fearful that Musa might actually say yes. Because the truth was that she had absolutely no idea how she'd manage something like that without giving Libby leverage over her.

"No," Musa insisted. "It's not even a good job." Musa looked inside the windows of the door and grabbed Charlie's arm. "Neither of us should be taking this, Charlie. We're better than this."

She shook her head. "Maybe you are," Charlatan said. "You're a princess. I'm just a thief." She twirled the blade between her fingers. "It's like he said; no one around here will hire me. I'm a wanted criminal."

"So we can leave," Musa suggested. "There's so much more to the realms than just this shabby corner of Sperare. I promise you."

Charlie shook her head, a small wistful smile growing on her face. "This is my only home."

"Charlie, you hate it here. You've never been anywhere else and you've always hated it."

"Well…I have no home." She waved a hand back at the crumbling building called _Libby's_ and frowned. "This is not a home. It's where you go when you've never had one." She smirked. "And honestly, I'm still waiting for a chance to cut Libby." Her blade danced around her fingers and Musa wondered how her friend managed to do such a trick without cutting herself.

Musa chuckled. "Your day will come, I promise." _I really hope it doesn't_ was what Musa should have added. Charlie was already in enough trouble and as vile as Libby was…it wasn't worth going to jail (or worse) for.

Charlie nodded. "I know. I'll give 'im an extra slice for you, eh?"

The blue-haired fairy rolled her eyes. "Sure." _Please don't bring me into this._ She hugged her friend. "I'll call you later, huh?"

Libby opened the door, letting out a stench that Musa hadn't noticed since her first month working there. "You still cluttering my doorstep?" He spat on the ground. "Why don't you get back to working the corners, whore. It's all you're good for."

Charlie's grip on her knife tightened. She walked past Libby into the diner and he pinched her ass. Musa laughed as Charlie nearly lunged at the man, ready to murder him in the blink of an eye. But Charlie held back, looking back at the family inside who were watching the debacle with anxiety in their eyes. Besides, it was like Musa had said; her day would come.

"What the fuck'chu laughing at, girl?" Libby shouted. "I tell you, I'm gonna be the one laughing when you come crawling back begging me for a job."

Musa rolled her eyes and started walking down the sidewalk, away from her own personal hell.

"Just you watch! You'll be begging!"

Musa simply shook her head as she walked away.

•○

Musa was nearly crawling up the stairs by the time she got to her apartment.

When she had left Libby's, she thought that for once she'd take the subway. She had a date with Tatum later that night and Musa figured she's get a new dress. After all, they'd been dating for almost six months. She thought that maybe—just maybe—their relationship might take a turn. For the better, she'd hoped. Besides, she didn't have anywhere to be till then.

Musa stepped out of the subway at Trinicord station and she walked three blocks to the closest discount retail store. As she looked through their collection of dresses, Musa laughed at the thought that if Stella saw her buying retail and not couture, she'd probably have an aneurism and strangle her to her best extent. Nevertheless, Stella would never know. Musa found a knee length dress in a crimson red that she absolutely adored and started back to the subway for her trip back home.

That was where things started to go wrong.

People really should know that when a light is red, they shouldn't drive. Generally, red meant 'stop' and any violators shouldn't even be driving in the first place. Musa was crossing the street at a normal pace, not lagging behind like the old man behind her, and out of the blue—BAM—some teenager going much too fast on a levabike clipped her in the side, sending her sprawling onto the ground against the curb.

According to the Med Mages, it was bad. Bad enough that she had to have sixty-seven stitches on her forehead before they could even _begin_ to work on her with magic.

Four hours and several sedation spells later, Musa was escorted home, ambling on crutches with her head pounding and her new red dress sporting an unattractive rip and stain. The officers helped her up the dodgy stairs to her apartment (one of the nicer ones on this side of town; a rundown loft which the stairs weren't completely decayed) and left her to her own devices from there. Musa dug her key from her jacket pocket and unlocked the door, snatching a crumpled yellow piece of paper from the mail slot.

Finally inside, Musa took off her jacket and hung it on the hook behind the door then took off her shoe and the striped sock that they hadn't cut off. She threw the sock in the trash bin—she was _fired_, after all, and it was tacky—and set her dress over a chair. She'd try a few spells on it before Tatum got there to try to get the blood and dirt out. What she needed was to just sit down and relax for a moment.

Musa blinked, just to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Nope; her couch was gone. The balcony doors were wide open and her couch was gone. Musa hit the heel of her hand against her forehead and winced in pain. She drew her hand back to see a whole new coating of blood on her skin.

Musa made the smallest whining sound in the back of her throat as she limped to the kitchen, not caring to bother with crutches. She didn't get the point of the healing spells in the cast—it took a long time to heal either way.

Musa turned on the faucet and found herself in contact with icy cold water. She'd have to talk to the landlord about her water heater.

The phone rang. It sat a foot away from her hand, ringing merrily and lighting up with the news of a call. Musa assumed it would be Charlie, but the audio component kept chirping "Helia" in a tone that even Stella couldn't manage.

Musa wiped off her hand and stared at the phone until the bright green began to fade into violet, a sign that the call was about to disconnect. She snatched the phone from the base and held it to her ear, sucking in a breath.

"Hey," Musa mumbled grievously. She slunk over to one of the chairs, yellow paint chipping to add to the morose atmosphere of the room, and sat down in it, her feet relieved to finally have a rest. Musa groaned. She really needed to think about replacing the lights. The last working bulb flickered dimly, casting a pale green colour throughout the room.

"_Hey yourself,"_ Helia said, his voice more amused than Musa could tolerate. _"Why is it that you sound absolutely resentful to be talking to me?"_

Musa sighed. "Sorry." She tenderly touched the wound on her head. "I've had a hell of a day," she amended.

Helia hissed. _"What happened?"_

Musa rolled her eyes sarcastically and did her best to keep her voice optimistic. "Nothing novel-worthy. I got fired from my job, hit by a bike, and someone broke in and stole my couch." She pouted. "I think I was stashing about sixty bucks in that thing."

"_You got hit by a bike?" _Helia's voice rose in concern. _"Musa, how can you say that's not important? Are you alright?"_

Musa shrugged. "It just kinda paled in comparison to getting my couch stolen." She stared over at the spot where the couch had previously been. "I liked that couch, you know?"

Helia's eye-roll was almost audible. _"I'm sorry about your couch, Muse."_ He sighed and Musa could hear a muffled conversation on his end of the line. She wasn't alert enough to care to pick it up. _"I'm also sorry you got fired."_

Musa stood up, noticing for the first time bright green writing across her refrigerator. "Don't be; my boss was a dick." Upon closer inspection, she could make out (in his chicken-scratch handwriting) that the words said, '_**Not coming to dinner. We're over. Tatum.**__'_ Musa groaned. "Oh, of course."

"_What?" _Helia asked her, not liking the sound of exhaustion she was making.

"Nothing," Musa said. "Just adding to the phenomenal events of today." She started wiping at the writing with a rag. "So, I know this isn't a purely social call. What's new with you?"

She could hear Helia's smile through the phone. Her cousin chuckled. _"Well…I have something to tell you."_

"Yeah, I got that from the phone call and all," Musa mumbled. The damn words weren't scrubbing off. Stupid washed-up guitarist trying to get the best of her. His ego was too big for the rest of him to support.

"_Well if you don't want me to tell you, I won't," _Helia said. _"Which would be a shame because I really want to tell you."_

Musa rolled her eyes. "I don't mind you telling me but what you're doing is gossiping like a twelve year old school girl. If you have something to say then just say it."

"_Flora and I are getting married."_

Musa dropped the rag. "Married? Like…weddings and rings and vows and stuff?"

"_Yeah,"_ Helia laughed happily.

"That's…" Musa picked up the rag and started rubbing at the words with new fervor. Her words seemed to strangle her. "That's great, Helia."

"_We were both hoping that you'd be there; that you'd be __**in**__ it?"_

"Oh." Musa put the rag down and leant back against the counter, her eyebrows drawn together. "Oh." She winced and drummed her hand against the cold surface.

"_Oh's all you got for me?" _Helia teased.

"Well…it's just…I've got a lot of stuff going on and…" Musa plucked at the yellow paper she'd pulled from her door. "I don't know, Helia. I love you guys and all but weddings just…aren't my thing." She smoothed the paper out and found herself staring at the blank side.

"_Come on, Muse. How many times does your favourite cousin get married?"_

"You're only my favourite cousin by a process of elimination. Since you're my _only_ cousin there's not much eliminating to be done." She closed her eyes and turned the paper around.

"_All the more reason. Not to mention that Flora would be completely heartbroken if her best friend wasn't there. Plus, you're __**my**__ favourite cousin too."_

She frowned. "Double guilt trips aren't fair footing, Helia." She looked down at the paper.

**NOTICE OF EVICTION**

To: Musa of the Harmonic Nebula.

NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN of the termination of a month to month lease…

"You've got to be kidding me!" Her eyes skimmed down quickly and Musa wadded the paper up and threw it against the scrappily painted wall, as if it would cause the wall physical harm.

"_No, Musa, I'm not. Though if you didn't want to have anything to do with it, you could have just said so."_ Helia's voice had lost its joy, replaced with disappointment and dismay.

"No, sorry, Helia." She glared at the paper, willing it to catch fire. It was unfortunate she wasn't a firestarter. "I wasn't talking to you." The red dress caught her eye—"Who's going to be there?" Musa asked, walking closer to the chair holding the red dress as if she was seeing it for the first time.

"_Everyone; the girls, the guys, Flora's family, your dad."_

Musa rolled her eyes. "I see." She felt the fabric between her fingers and tilted her head. It really was a nice dress. Musa sighed in resign. "Well…count me in."

"_You'll make it?"_

"I don't see why not. How many times does your only cousin get married, right?"

Helia laughed. _"Well, I'll tell Flora. I guess we'll be seeing you soon."_

"Yeah," Musa said bleakly. "See you soon." Helia hung up and Musa let the phone slip from her fingers. "What the hell did I just do?" She glared at the dress. "This is your fault."

* * *

**Yes, Libby's a wonderful person. Not. I know it's cliche but that was the point.**

**Well, here's the start of this attempted Sequel.**

**Don't have much written so far, so your thoughts would be greatly appreciated. I hope it doesn't completely ruin my other story.**

**xxEcho.**

**P.S. I will smile and then have a coronary rupture if anyone can guess my inspiration for Charlie xD.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author: .ForeverFrozen. aka Annabella**

**Rating: T for language and my twisted tendancies.**

**Pairing: M/R eventually and mentions**

**This chapter...well, basically, i don't plan weddings. I don't really know how any of that shit works so i'm just making up my own little way of doing things; tehy're in a completely different dimension, why not? Also, Linphea is less lady-bugged up as it is in the one episode in the show. I just...yeah. Couldn't handle it.**

**Haha, and Charlie's not based on any character from this category; she's from some video game-type thing. But she's ever so much fun to mess with.**

**So, without further ado, here's chapter two of Reconciliation, sequel to Storm.**

**Read and Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

Charlie sat down next to Musa one on one of the cold benches at the sky station and passed her a cup of coffee. "I know you hate it," the thief said, "but you really need something to wake you up."

Musa looked at her friend through drooping eyes. "Thank."

Charlie chuckled. "I'm pretty sure you mean 'thanks', but either way you're welcome." Charlatan twirled a strand of chin-length wavy chocolate brown hair around her finger. "Hey, since you're going to be gone for a few weeks and all do you think I can crash at your place?"

Musa picked at the stickers on her guitar case (one from every realm she'd toured in during the past two years; there were only thirteen so far). She chewed her bottom lip. "I guess so. There's no hot water."

"That's still better than staying at Libby's. And I swear I won't throw a party again."

She smiled tiredly. "It wasn't the party that bothered me; it was the fact that your brothers stole my closet and the furniture in my living room."

Charlatan had told her that way back while they were young, her parents were pirates; they took all they could and gave nothing back. When her mother had gotten knocked up for the first time, they settled into a small house outside of town and were planning to go back to sea when the child was old enough. That dream was squashed, though. Charlie referred to her mother as a literal breeding machine. She had at least seventeen brothers (no sisters) and she was the youngest, excusing the brother that was still on its way (how the woman had gotten pregnant at fifty-two years old, neither had the foggiest idea). She'd gotten her name because her parents had been expecting a boy—Charles—but instead they ended up with their first daughter so they named her Charlatan just so they wouldn't have to change it. Not even Charlotte like most parents would—_Charlatan_. She and all of her brothers were part of the 'family business' of robbing people dry. Charlie's parents had kicked her out at fourteen; apparently her morals weren't respected.

What a family.

"I got most of it back," Charlie insisted. "And I even got them to steal back that necklace they pawned."

"I know." Musa shook her head. Crazy came in two shades of green in Charlie's family. "That's not it." She sighed. "Marty's evicting me. I only have the place for eight more days."

"Shit," Charlie hissed. "That's tough luck. You're really having a lot of this week, huh?" Charlie was watching the arrival board. "Well, do you want me to see if some of my brothers can help you move out or something?" What else was she supposed to say?

"That's alright," Musa said. She smiled into the coffee cup, swallowing the liquid without tasting it. "I'd rather keep my furniture even if I don't have a place to put it." Musa grimaced. "I'll find someone to help me."

Charlie shrugged and smirked. "Fair enough." She kicked her feet up on the bench, her oversized brown boots clunking against the metal. "Why don't you just take the inter-realm transporter? They're quicker."

"They're also more expensive. I don't really have any money to burn right now." Not to mention that she'd just end up taking a ship anyway; inter-realm transporters didn't go out to the nature realm.

Only four more minutes until the ship to Linphea was going to be there. Musa's stomach began to flip. She hadn't seen her cousin or Flora since Stella's wedding three years before.

Charlie turned to stare at her friend, her green eyes narrowed. "See, that's what I don't get." She pulled a piece of gum from her brown combat boots. They were several sizes too big (having originally belonged to a man) but they were her pride and joy. "You're a princess, right?"

"Yeah," Musa muttered. She didn't quite care for the title, though, and she didn't understand Charlie's trail of thought.

"Well, that means your dad's rich, doesn't it? Kings are usually rich." The arrival siren blipped once.

Musa shook her head. "Not really. It's a different kind of monarchy." The money that her father had, he'd worked for. "Besides," Musa sighed. "I won't borrow money from my father. He's put up with enough from me."

Charlie snatched the cup from Musa and twirled it between her hands, squinting into the dull liquid. "Well, isn't that what families are for; to help each other out during struggling times?" She looked at her blue-haired friend, her green eyes wide and sincere. "I honestly wouldn't know. I'm not trying to be rude."

Musa bit her lip. "Okay, yeah. But…" She sighed. "I've put my dad through enough. I can't ask for any more than I already have." Her father's disappointed face was burned into her memory forever. He hadn't even yelled at her; he just looked at her in _that_ way that only he could seem to manage. Musa shuddered.

The thief rolled her eyes. She supposed it was good that guilt was a common emotion among people or else she'd be out of a job. The arrival siren went off once more. Charlie looked up. "Your flight's here." Musa turned her eyes up towards the projection morosely as if she were staring her death in the mouth.

Charlie stood and handed Musa her bag. "I don't know why you're stressing out over this. It's just your cousin."

"I know," Musa said. She hugged her guitar case to her. Guitar or not, it'd kept her sane since it came into her life. "I just haven't seen any of them in years…and I know they'll be expecting me to be something that I'm not."

"You'll be fine. The wedding's not for another month, right?

Musa nodded. "I guess so. A month of happy festivities and bonding time."

Charlie smirked outright. "I'd shoot you now if it was legal."

"Since when have legalities stopped you?"

"I'm trying something new."

Musa eyed her brunette friend speculatively. "It's not really working for you."

She shrugged. "I didn't say I was putting any effort into it. And I figure that if I mock you it'll make the wedding thing less miserable." She began to walk towards the gate, pushing Musa ahead of her. "Besides," Charlie said once Musa's ticket was checked, "It's my job to make you look good."

•○

The witch lay against the cold table, her body shaking in steady convulsions. The ice was melting slowly around her, very slowly releasing their hold on her limbs one at a time. Though she now had use of her hands, she didn't want to risk using all of her energy in an attack—the guards here always reacted badly if they knew she was awake and as eager as she was to get out of this place, Darcy knew that the ice had made her too weak to try it now.

Small breaths of warm air escaped her lips. Darcy was becoming agitated. This was below her; she was stronger than this; she shouldn't have been here so long. Four years was _much_ too long.

Measured footsteps echoed in the frozen hallway paired with the brush of fabric against fabric in the still air. The dim grey lighting dimmed as a shadow crossed the frosted wall, coming closer to the cell in which the witch laid, eyes closed and her mind open, working more as vision than her eyes ever could. As the person slid his identification across the entry panel, her body tensed and she lay as still as she could. The compressed metal door hissed open.

"Good morning my dear," the man's voice drawled. Apparently she wasn't still enough. The man chuckled and touched a screen. "You're not fooling me, Darcy. Did you know that your heartbeat increases in fear?" She hardly realized that the sordid contraption used to monitor her life was blipping.

Darcy's gruff voice was crackly, her throat dry, and she spoke entirely out of her wounded pride. "I'm not afraid."

The man placed his glasses on and rolled up his white sleeves. "No, I don't imagine you are. Someone like you isn't likely to be intimidated by a place like this."

"Damn straight," she coughed. Darcy's body shivered. "Is there some reason you're keeping me off the ice for this long? Is it to get my hopes up?"

"Hope, my dear, is a concept I don't believe you put much stock in."

"Is it just to piss me off?"

He laughed. "Though I do enjoy the little tricks you play on my staff, I can assure you I have a purpose in mind." The man lifted up a needle, connected to a bright blue drip. "Are you familiar with this, Darcy?"

She peeled a golden eye open and looked at it. "No idea," Darcy admitted. She felt naked without makeup on her face and the grey outfit she was forced into wasn't helping. The tall witch flexed her fingers. Her long nails were snagged and broken, much like Icy's had been before she'd gone and died. "I imagine you're about to tell me, though."

He never did deny it. "This is a very rare material from the smallest moon of Sanning. Highly illegal. It is said," he mused as he probed Darcy's arm for her vein, "that the subject will be…influenced to tell nothing but the truth—Sanning means truth, after all."

Darcy rolled her eyes as the man put some sort of healing tape over the injected needle. "Cool trick," she mumbled sarcastically, "but I'm not impressed. I can do that with a paperclip and a blink."

The man chuckled and brought around another vial—a clear liquid that Darcy now recognized to be a mild sedative (meant to lull her into a calm state rather than knock her out). He measured into a syringe the smallest amount of it. "I've no doubt." He cleaned a spot on her opposite arm and injected the drug. "However, my favourite part of it is its…well, quirks to say the least."

"Quirks?" She couldn't wait until she could get out of there.

"Indeed. You see," he flicked the glowing blue drip to resettle the restless serum (it had a mind of its own), "this isn't only a useful truth serum. It also can tell when you lie and, rumor has it, that if anyone can manage to lie in the first place, it creates a pain within your own mind so intense it has the ability to paralyze." Again, the man held up the vial, holding it before Darcy's face like it was an object of show-and-tell. "Hence my administering this. I would hate for you to become useless to me now after all of my hard work."

Darcy had been an unwilling lab rat for the whole time she'd been on this hell-forsaken ship. "Is there some reason you're testing this on _me_?"

The man's smile stretched ironically across his face, neither overbearing nor disturbing, but almost calming. It was a ruse. "You can lie better than anyone on this ship, save for myself. With your powers coming into full swing with the Oak Moon come next month, this is the ideal time for me to test its potency." The man's eyes hardened and he tucked his glasses into the pocket of his coat. "I trust you won't lie to me, Darcy." His words were hollow.

She shook her head sluggishly. "You already know I will."

There was nothing kind about his expression. "I am counting on it."

•○

Helia was waiting for her at the sky port just outside her ship when Musa landed. He smiled softly at her as she slowly ambled down the ramp with her casted foot, dragging her large guitar and knapsack behind her. Helia swore she looked about ready to fold in half with the weight of just her light bag. She looked more tired and worn-out than he'd ever seen her before and Helia's smile became more and more posed the nearer she came.

Musa rubbed her tired eyes and smiled at her cousin. "Hey." Helia took her large guitar case from her and his arm wrapped around her shoulder, squeezing his cousin to him fondly. Helia, being the ever considerate man that he was, took her bag from her and put it on his own shoulder.

"I'm glad to see you." And he was. Even if she looked as if she hadn't slept in three weeks.

"You too," Musa mumbled. She'd taken quite a long nap on the flight and still wasn't sure if the warm feel of the air was her imagination or not. She pulled her hair back into a band and looked around, smirking. "Where's your blushing bride?"

Helia's eyes lit up. "She's at her parents' house. Layla came by a few days ago, so they're waiting for you." Musa nodded stiffly. Helia winced and gently touched the cut on her forehead—now healed enough that she had been able to take the stitches out—an angry vibrant pink contrasted by the purple shadows under her eyes. "You look tired, Muse."

Her eyes narrowed. "I just got off a twenty-one hour flight, Helia. I'm exhausted and I traveled thirty-two realms just to get here. Of course I'm _tired_."

He shook his head as they walked towards the stables. "That's not what I meant. You look like you've given up—like hell warmed over and you forgot ice cubes." They got to the horses that Flora had told him about and stopped, turning to her as she kicked at the dirt. "I don't like that you live there, Muse. It's not good for you."

She wouldn't meet his eye. "Well, luckily for you I won't be living there for much longer." She cleared her throat.

Helia groaned. "What happened?" As much as he hated her being so far away, he hadn't wanted anything to have happened to her, especially something that made her sound as bitter as she did when she said that.

"My bad day." Musa mounted the horse and took her bag away from her cousin. She ran her hands through the coarse hair, thrilling at the ebony strands contrasted against her pale skin, and sighed. "Look, I don't want you to worry about it. You're getting married; I don't want to start a fight with you because you know that we both can hold grudges for as long as we want to."

Helia followed suit. "Fine. We'll let it drop."

She smiled slightly. "Good." She tucked some loose hairs behind her ear (a nervous habit that she had developed since she'd left Alfea). "Are you going to lead the way or are you just going to let me ride off and get lost?"

His spirits lifted a little after seeing that Musa was slowly returning to her old self. "Well, as fun as search parties are, I find that they always seem to be more _search_ than party and well...that's just no fun."

"Shut up, Helia," Musa laughed. "Just take me to Flo."

The morning was warmer than one she'd ever felt in November outside of Solaria, with the sun streaming down in pristine rays from the crystal clear sky. Everything was much brighter than she'd seen since leaving Magix. The plants were greener, the water bluer, and everywhere she turned people were living in harmony with the nature they revered. The only place on the planet where technology was even accessible was the sky port and that was only for a few days a month.

In an odd sense, Musa realized as they rode towards Flora's parents' house, it was just what she needed. She'd been stuck in her dead-end job for almost two years, stranded on Sperare out of her own pride and drive to show her father she _could _make it there, and overwhelmed by the stress that living there brought.

_Sperare_—a land of hope. Where your greatest dreams can come true with just enough persistence.

At the time when she'd been looking around for where she wanted to start over, the realm had sounded entirely promising. Cliché, also, but promising, with just enough room that the promise could be interpreted any which way you wanted. With all it's bad publicity for poverty and crime, she figured that if she could prove she could make a decent living there, then her father would stop pestering her to come back home. She loved her home, but she wanted to find out first hand if there was a place she loved _more_ before she had to ascend to her father's throne.

They came up to a modest looking cabin, styled like many were on Earth, nestled among honeysuckles and other sweet-smelling flowers that Musa couldn't name if she had a blade to her throat. There was a small stone path leading right up to the shaded porch, with a cushioned rocking chair and a swing decorating the front of the house.

"Cute," Musa said. There really was no other way to describe it. It was humble, quaint, and all together 'homey'. Something Musa would probably survive in for about a week at most.

Helia rolled his eyes. He knew what his cousin was thinking; he'd known her since before she could walk. Words like 'cute' always came with a few strings. "Don't go there, Musa."

"Go where? I just said that it's cute is all."

He jumped down off the horse and shook his head. "Cute is a four letter word, Muse. Especially when it's coming from you."

Musa gave him a pitifully innocent look and rested her chin against her hand resting on the horse's side. "I'm sure I don't have any idea what you mean."

From the porch came a cheerful laugh. "Musa, are you really going to play that card?" Layla shook her head in amusement, her hand wrapped around Flora's arm. The two girls stepped from inside the door outside.

Flora joined in. "She'll be trying that one until the day she dies."

Musa turned the full effect of her sleep-deprived smile on her two friends. "There's my cousin's blushing bride!" And blush the flower-fairy did. She swiped her short dual-toned hair in front of her face to try and hide the crimson spreading from her nose down, however it did nothing but enhance her embarrassment. Musa set her bag down and wrapped her arms around the girls. "It's good to see you."

"I'm so glad you could make it," Flora told her in her calming voice. The flower-fairy pulled away and held her fiancé's cousin at an arm's length. Her full lips pulled into a pout. "Goodness, sweetie, you don't look well."

She decided that she'd just let it go. Helia's and her conversation were bound to get around to her soon anyway. Musa shrugged. "I'll be better soon." Musa reached out and smoothed down Layla's hair, now past her shoulders in soft waves and not as choppy as it had been when it first was shortened. Musa noticed she also had it a shade lighter. "It looks awesome, Layla."

Layla smiled. "Flora did it for me."

"That's good." She still felt guilty every time she looked into her friend's milky eyes, no matter how many times the princess would insist that it wasn't anything to get worked up over. Musa frowned. "Are you doing better?"

"If you mean better than I was three years ago when I was still tripping over air and running into everything," Layla scoffed. "Of course I am. I've pretty much gotten the hang of it. I can go anywhere within Tides, downtown Magix, and now most of Linphea without an escort," she announced proudly. Then the dark-skinned fairy's face puckered. "Nabu still insists on going everywhere with me, though."

Flora shook her head in amusement. Musa glanced from her back to the other girl, a smirk on her face. "Are you two still fighting?"

Layla shrugged. Her fingers played at the warm jacket she wore. "There are days," she said slowly. "I don't want to just give in just because it's what our _parents_ think should be."

The empath frowned. There was more to it than that; something she recognized in herself. "Don't focus on your parents; focus on _you_. You could be missing out on what you always wanted."

"What? The freedom to dance whenever I want?"

Musa pushed at her friend's arm lightly. "You know what I mean. Don't let your pride get in the way." The water-fairy's brow arched.

"That's rich coming from—"

"Okay," Flora cut in. This happened every time they talked about 'boy trouble.' "You two fighting is just going to cause problems." She held the door open for the others, kissed Helia on the cheek, and turned to Musa. "Do you want some tea, sweetie?"

Musa rubbed at her eyes, drowsiness settling back in. She smiled. "No thanks, Flo, maybe later." Her muscles were tense and she stretched her arms above her head. "I'd love a nap though. For nine years if that's possible. Hey, you don't have tea for that do you?"

Flora shook her head with a small smile and Helia laughed. "I don't think you can manage nine years, but you could probably squeeze in nine hours before Rose and Lily arrive."

The blue-haired fairy shrugged. "I'll take what you've got."

* * *

**So there it is. Would love to hear from y'all. I have so much fun with this doctor dude's character :) Will be getting to more about Riven and the others soon.**

**xxEcho**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author: .ForeverFrozen. aka Annabella**

**Rating: T for language and other stuff. Too tired to be specific.**

**Pairing: M/R (main) later. other pairs cannon**

**So this chapter was a little bit hard for me to write towards the end and i just couldn't help thinking that maybe i was overdoing it, but in the end with some help from my dear friend Inky, whose therapy bills i'm sure will one day be my fault, i decided that i would just write it. Because if i was to go back and change it, it'd only be cheating myself and you dear readers of the raw undiluted message that i'm shoveling into your eyesockets. Wow, i'm tired.**

**Merci beaucoup to my reviewers :) really, i had a lot of fun reading what you guys had to say.**

**Anyway, here's chapter 3. Enjoy and feedback's always appreciated to teh point of a laugh and smile :)**

* * *

**Chapter 3.**

Flora's mother was a sweet woman, plump and warm. She had curly strawberry-blonde hair, woven up into a loose bun with bright daisies ornamenting the tresses, and her soft caramel eyes always sparkled. She always smelt of roses and fresh baked blueberry pie and Musa noticed that more often than not she busied herself with either.

Now, though, it was the pies that she was baking. It was still warm outside so the smell wafted through the small house easily and had filled every corner of every room by sunrise. By midday when the sun was high and bright in the sky and Marigold was a glimpse on the northern horizon, Musa couldn't take any more of it. A week of pies was much too much.

Musa pushed up off the couch, stretching her arms above her head and her toes curled. She was glad that her cast had dissolved overnight (finally) even if her leg still ached and had an odd yellow tinge to the skin.

Ivy looked up from her pie and smiled and Musa imagined she might have looked something like Flora when she was younger. "Can I get you anything, dear?"

Musa shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'm just going to get some fresh air." Musa picked up her sweater and tied it around her waist.

Flora looked up from the flower bracelet she was making and put her hand on her sister's, Rose, to still her small hand. Rose kicked her legs against the air distractedly and hummed. Flora straightened up the fallen leaves, setting them into a clay bowl. "Where are you going, sweetie?" she asked.

That was a good question. Musa hadn't thought much past getting out of the house and away from pie for the rest of her life. Helia was in the garden sketching, but she didn't much thrill at the prospect of staring at flowers at the time being. In fact, what she needed was to get out off the fifth moon entirely and to a place where an amp would work and could shake a whole planet. Moreover, though, Musa just couldn't stay there. She loved her friend and her family but a week of non-stop flower power was just overpowering.

Musa set her foot, shoelaces undone, on the ground and looked up at her friend thoughtfully. "I think I might go see Stell. I haven't seen her in a while."

Flora's jade eyes widened in surprise. "Do you want me to come with you?" Musa apparently didn't know.

"Nah," Musa said. "You've got a lot going on here." She looked over at Ivy, pressing her fingers to form the pie crust, and smiled at the middle aged woman softly. "Besides, I might not be back today; I need to get started on moving my apartment. Marty's probably going to bump the eviction up a day or two."

Flora sighed, "If you're sure, sweetie. Let me know if you need any help." Flora smoothed down her sister's red hair as the eight-year-old kicked at the sofa. "Are you using a portal?"

Musa nodded. "Yeah; they said that once the cast dissolved I could use my winx." Musa wiggled her foot with a smirk. "Since I've got full mobilization of my toes, I'm good to go."

The brunette smiled. "Alright, well, have fun. I'll tell Helia you left so he doesn't flip out." The flower fairy waved her hands over the bracelet (which little Rose was having trouble waiting for) and then tied it around her sister's wrist. She smiled up at her friend. "You'll meet us in Magix on Friday, right?"

"Of course, Flo," Musa laughed. "I wouldn't miss it." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be inappreciative and I don't want to overstay my welcome."

Ivy shook her head. "Nonsense, dear. You're practically family to us." Flora smiled and nodded in agreement with her mother.

Ivy brought out another basket of blueberries. Musa's eyes went wide with fright and she teleported from the middle of Flora's living room without even the consideration of stepping out before.

**•○**

It seemed her memory of Solaria wasn't as fogged as she thought. For the first time, Musa managed to open a portal right to the front doors instead of inside one of the faux walls (the last time that had happened, she had to wait five hours before anyone could find her). It gave the sentry quite a scare, but Musa's joy at her achievement couldn't be offset. Teleporting had never been her strong point. Their senior year, it had been the only thing she didn't pass with high marks.

Musa smiled, elated. "I can't believe I did that," she laughed. Musa looked up at the sentry, a middle-aged man she'd known since she knew Stella, and grinned. "Did you see that, Geoffrey? I finally did it!"

The sentry remained indifferent. "I haven't any idea as to what you are referring, miss." His horn was tucked tightly under his arm and he was obviously struggling not to show any emotion (or to laugh, she guessed). "What is your business here, miss?"

She pouted. "You've known me forever, Geoffrey." She didn't understand why he was pretending that he didn't. Musa stepped backwards towards the door. "Is Stella inside?"

Geoffrey cocked his gaunt head to the side. "Her highness is feeling ill. Would you like me to announce your arrival?"

Such formality. Musa smirked. "That's alright, Geoff. I know where it is." She pushed against the heavy door, just barely squeezing inside. Geoffrey balked and started towards her.

"Princess Musa, this is not protocol. I've been given direct orders to—"

She crossed her arms. "Oh come on, Geoff. You already knew I was going to do it anyway."

He sighed. "Yes, miss Musa. It seems that your persistence to have me dismissed from the court is never ceasing with time."

"I never wanted you to be fired, Geoffrey," Musa announced. "If I had, it would have happened by now and we both know it." The fairy winked. She ran up the grand flight of stairs and by the time Geoffrey had gotten to the base, she was already only a few doors away from where she knew Stella's suite to be. Musa had been surprised to hear that she and Brandon were living in the Solarian palace.

The guards outside the doors barely realized she was there until she had already flung the doors open.

"Announcing Princess Musa of the Harmonic Nebula; here to rock your day for the first time since your wedding." Musa spun around—she didn't see Stella anywhere. Her brows furrowed. "Stell?"

"Musa?" A shriek came from the opposite side of the room and then a flutter of sheets. "Don't look at me!" Stella yelled. Musa spun around and saw her huddled under emerald green silk sheets, a pillow covering where she saw golden locks spilling from.

The guard burst through the door, swords drawn. "Princess Stella, are you alright?" the first guard called out.

"No," Stella mumbled from under the covers. "I can't be seen like this!"

Musa stood shell-shocked and unable to make sense of what was going on. "Stell?"

"Princess," the second guard said, "Your husband has told me to remind you to relax and not move around much."

"Well he won't be back until later so he won't know. Go away!" Stella flipped the pillow from her head and pulled the sheet down to her nose, staring over at the three who were standing awkwardly at attention. "Musa, come sit down please."

The guards glanced to each other but nodded, bowed, and left the room nevertheless. Musa stared after their retreating figures until the door was swung shut once more and only then began to walk towards Stella's enormous bed. She sat at the end timidly.

"Damn, Stell, what was all that about?"

Stella made a sniffling sound and tucked her hair back behind her ear as if it would return her dignity. She smoothed the thick blankets down over her, clutching them at her collarbone, and sighed. "Oh, Musa," she groaned dramatically, "I'd hoped you'd never see me like this."

Musa's eyes narrowed—"Like…what?" Stella didn't _look _too different. Her skin was slightly tanner and her hair was a few shades lighter and she had nearly no make-up on, but she didn't look like anything to be ashamed about. Then again, Musa reminded herself that this _was_ Stella. Stella overreacted about things that others would never notice in years.

The sun fairy folded the blankets down, revealing an apparently vintage nightgown stretched over her protruding stomach. "I'm…pregnant!" Stella sobbed, falling back onto her pillow.

Musa stared at her friend's midsection. "I can see that." She could _really_ see that. People on Solaria's moon could see it if she left the confines of her room (which Musa gathered she hadn't; no, not Stella).

"I'm _huge_, Musa!" It seemed Stella was having one of her mini-tantrums.

The musician laughed. "You said it, Stell, not me." She was still having trouble believing what was right in front of her. _Stella, pregnant_? It was one of those things that she couldn't wrap her head around.

Stella glared. "I never thought there would be a day when you could wear a smaller size than me."

"I'm almost half a foot shorter than you," Musa protested. "I've always worn a smaller size than you."

"Well, it's not right," the blonde wailed. "I should be a fashionista, not a pregnant princess. Look at you; you're like a skeleton!" Her lips twisted into a full-on pout. "God, Musa, you've lost so much weight. _Lord Darkar_ had more meat on his bones than you do."

"That is _not_ true," Musa said. She hadn't lost _that_ much weight; just the baby weight and then a bit more over her stressed out months when cash was tight.

"Are you anorexic? Because no one gets that skinny without being anorexic." Some amount of static in the room was causing Stella's hair to begin to rise into the air strand by strand.

Musa rolled her eyes. "I'm not anorexic. Don't be mean to me just because you're pregnant." She reached out and righted Stella's hair.

Stella sniffed. "You're too concerned with your figure, Musa."

"When are you due?" She wasn't going to get into an argument over who was vainer when it came to their figure with a pregnant Stella. Mostly because she honestly didn't know who would win.

"Tomorrow." The Solarian Princess groaned. "I do _not_ want to go through childbirth again."

Her friend smirked. "I think I recall you telling me that you were _never_ going to go through it." In fact, if she wanted to, she could recall that day vividly; she could even tell, if asked, the colour that Stella had painted her toe-nails the morning before or how wide Stella's eyes had been when Musa had began to cry. Then it struck her—"Did you just say _again_? As in more than once?"

Stella nodded pitifully and seemed to sob into a handkerchief.

"Are you telling me you have _another_ child? As in more than the one that's swimming in your gut?"

Again, she nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Musa had always told her about everything that happened; she couldn't imagine that Stella wouldn't do the same.

Stella's mascara was running down her cheeks. "I couldn't get ahold of you while you were on your tour. And then it was over and you never told me where you lived—I tried Magix and the Harmonic Nebula and I even asked Helia but no one knew at the time." She started to cry. "You deserted us."

"I didn't desert you." Musa shifted uncomfortably. "I had some things I needed to figure out."

Stella frowned, suddenly sympathetic. "Was it because of—"

"Among other things." Musa cut her off—she didn't want to be reminded; not today. She had too many things going on.

"I'm sorry."

Musa waved her hand. "Water long under the bridge." That 'water', however, ended with a dam. And that dam would eventually break. She chuckled. "I have more immediate problems right now."

"Like what?" The pregnant sun fairy suddenly leant forward despite her enlarged stomach, her mouth spreading into a hungry grin, feeling the air as if the gossip could engulf her. Stella hoped beyond hope that it would involve 'boy drama'. Ever since she'd gotten married and had her first kid, Stella missed the petty gossip of high school more than ever.

"Call off the paparazzi, little miss sunshine," Musa chuckled when Stella's excited face melted into disappointment, "it's nothing to get worked up over. My landlord sent me a notice of eviction and I have to be out in a few days."

Stella fell silent. Musa wasn't sure whether she should be worried by the calculating hazel eyes or if she should just be glad Stella was thinking something through before she said anything. Stella smiled then, and Musa found herself even more conflicted. Because when Stella smiled like that it usually ended with yelling.

"Do you need help moving your stuff out?" the blonde asked brightly.

Musa gave her a hard look. "I'd say yes but having a beached whale ready to blow at any moment wouldn't be much help."

Stella drew back, as if slapped. "That was rude, Musa. I never called _you_ a whale. It wasn't me I was talking about, anyway." She rolled her eyes nonchalantly. Musa could be so single-minded. "I don't do heavy lifting especially after I get my nails done." She held up her hands, glittering a rich cerulean blue in the light from the tall windows.

Musa sighed, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. "You're right; I'm sorry. Your tact is contagious." She patted Stella's knee. "I'll take any help you can offer."

Stella jerked oddly but waved it off as nothing. "Hand me something to write with, would you?" Musa summoned up a pen and pad of paper and handed it to her friend. "I have a friend who can help you out." Stella scribbled something on the paper—an address—and then shoved it back to Musa. She shrugged. "If he won't help you then you better start paying people to help." Stella lifted her shaking hand and grimaced at the colour of her nails—she'd liked it two minutes ago, but now it wasn't _right_.

Musa looked down at the address—it was in Magix. If she went today then she might be able to have her place cleared out by the time Marty pushed the eviction. Of course, knowing Marty, he'd move the eviction to a sooner day. She folded up the paper and stuck it into her jeans. "Thanks, Stell."

"Anything to help out my best friend." Stella jerked again, her hand flying to her stomach. "Ouch."

"Are you alright?" Musa made a move off the bed, ready to run if she needed to get one of the guards.

Stella smiled. "Fine, Musey." She waved her cautionary friend over and pulled on her hand. "Feel this"—she pressed Musa's hand to her stomach. The baby kicked softly against her palm; Musa turned her eyes, widened in awe, at her friend. Stella sighed. "I love my children, Musa. I love them so much." She still hadn't released Musa's hand. "I just wonder sometimes if I wasn't quite ready. There's still so much I still want to do."

Musa smiled, albeit breathlessly, and rubbed her friend's clammy hand. "I know exactly what you mean."

Stella rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, there's no use sitting around here pouting about it. You"—her eyes were accusing in the most insincere of manners when she'd pinned them on Musa at the word—"can still go out and enjoy today."

"Yes; because moving is so much fun." Stella's hands began to shove Musa away from her and Musa put her feet gracefully on the floor, standing before the blonde could push her off.

With a slight pout, Stella shrugged. "I don't think you'll have a problem with it." She waved her hands at her blue-haired friend. "Now go get your man, Musa."

She'd started to walk towards the door. She really had. Until she'd heard that.

Musa turned on her heel and stared at Stella with that glint in her eye that was explosive to a fault. "What?"

The blonde princess suddenly looked _too_ innocent, especially for Stella. "Did I say that?" She giggled almost nervously. "Oops. I meant to say 'go get that man to help you'. Clumsy words." Stella glanced at her hands, the window, and the door before looking at Musa once more and when she did it was a very fleeting glance. Stella ran her hands across her silk comforter, smoothing it across her lap almost meticulously. "It's the heat. It makes me say things that make no sense."

Musa doubted that. She was wearing a long jacket and she was still shivering as she stood in Stella's bedroom. Maybe it was hot flashes. But Stella was her best friend and she was in a…delicate state. "Sure, whatever," Musa mumbled out. "I'll see you later, Stell."

Stella's flushed face smiled brightly. She lifted her dainty hand to her lips and blew a kiss to her friend. "Bye, dawling. Good luck with the moving."

"Good luck with the childbirth," Musa countered. Halfway out the door, she turned. "Don't forget to _tell_ me this time. And I still want to meet your other mini Brandella."

Stella rolled her honey eyes and pointed her finger out the door. "I promise. Leave!"

With the door closed securely behind her, Musa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Then she laughed.

**•○**

_Thank goodness Magix is close to Solaria_, Musa thought to herself as she stepped off the transporting platform and onto the soft grass of the town center. With Solaria's days being longer than Magix's, she'd just barely made it there by the time the second sun was setting. It wasn't _too_ late to stop by some stranger's home. Though she figured that if she was anything less than cordial, kiss-ass even, she'd end up with a door imprinted on her face and said stranger's yells ringing in her ears.

Musa stumbled her way from the station and fingered the small scrap of paper in her pocket. She took it out again—though she had the address _memorized_ by now—and stared at the smearing ink once more. Nope, she realized, she _hadn't_ read it wrong last time. It still said exactly the same thing as it did the first time she read it—and that _was_ a seven, not a two. Musa's hands were cold and she hoped that was why they were shaking, not nerves. There was nothing to be _nervous_ about.

She turned down one of the busier streets, passing several bustling restaurants and even a few clubs on her way to the more quiet streets in town. Musa stopped a moment, reveling in the throbbing base coming from the dance floor—until she realized that was _her_ song. Then Musa's feet carried her faster than she'd remembered moving since she was six and chasing Helia after he'd put a frog-finch in her bed while she was sleeping and it had bitten her. She didn't feel the need to stand there and be taunted by herself.

Musa was glad that the sun took so _damn long_ to set in this realm. By the time she'd walked up to the set of apartments, there was still at least a nice rosy orange tinge to the dusk that had her going in the right direction. She stopped when she reached a path leading up to the door on her note—_thirty-seven_. Time to put on the charm.

She'd taken all of four steps towards the door when said door slammed open and light spilled out onto the doorstep. A tall woman, tan and strawberry blonde with shocking red lips stood there, scowling, and looking all but ready to rip someone apart.

"You're such an asshole! You're blaming _me_ for something you won't even own up to!" Her voice was loud, loud enough that Musa took a step back. The blonde stopped, her ears practically steaming, and seemed to notice the small fairy for the first time ever. Her brown eyes hardened. "Who are you?" There seemed to be a fire of hatred starting in those eyes, the kind that started as a spark and ended with someone roasting on a spit.

_Temper, temper_.

Musa took back the step that she'd retreated a second before, just to show that the woman didn't scare her enough to make her leave without being heard out first. "I'm looking for someone. Do you live here?" Musa was honestly beginning to consider running if she said yes.

"No," the woman nearly hissed out. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hips, her neck tense and poised like a rattlesnake's. "Do you?"

She shook her head. Musa couldn't believe she'd just asked that. "No. A friend of mine sent me here and told me that 'he' would be able to help me out."

"Help. I'm sure. If it's mental help you're looking for, he's not going to be one to turn to for help, girlie." The girl looked over Musa and the air seemed to chill even more. Musa shuddered from the pure malice oozing from the woman. "But maybe that's not the kind of _help_ you mean."

She didn't like the way that this person was accusing her without ever getting to her point. Musa took another step forward. The front part of her brain buzzed, that familiar sensation she always felt when her anger was starting to seep out of her every pore. "Look, I'm not looking to fight with you. I'm looking for the guy who lives here and I'm going to guess that unless you're hiding something under those too-tight jeans of yours then you're not _him_."

She watched with almost an innate sense of pleasure as the tall woman's jaw clenched and she knew that she was grinding her teeth. It wasn't like Musa to randomly pick fights with strangers, but it felt good this time. And if Musa had to defend herself, she wouldn't hesitate to point out that this girl's 'who are you' was anything but a friendly inquiring.

The girl let out a breath. "Look, chick, I don't know _who_ you are but you really picked the wrong person to mess with on the wrong day."

A golden-red dog, its fur nearly the same shade as the angry woman's long hair, bolted out the door. It ran right up to Musa, smiling face warm and inviting in striking contrast to her surroundings, and jumped right up on her, his tongue lolling out to kiss her skin. Musa laughed, her eyes wide.

"Zanzibar!" the woman yelled. "Get down!" She turned to someone just inside the door. "Your _dog's_ attacking your _guest_ again." She managed to say the two words, seemingly simple words that anyone would be able to say without emotion, with such conviction that Musa cringed at being called a guest for the first time.

"Great, Nuri, good to know you're so considerate as to let my _guest_ in." The man, his voice deep and rough, came into view and once Musa's eyes adjusted to the light, she froze.

"Riven?"

The man looked up from the glaring contest that he seemed to be having with the blonde woman and cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowing. "Muse?"

* * *

**AN: Yay! Enter Riven.....finally! haha, TWO WHOLE CHAPTERS without him.....gasp, how tragic. (dramatic faint and if you can't tell it's all out of sarcasm and a smirk). Yes, Stella's pregos on her kid numero dos. Brandon's a miracle worker ;) Zanzibar's a cutie. He's dedicated in honour of my 13 year old dog, Molly, who we had to put down last October. Because she was about teh sweetest old dog ever :)**

**Looking forward to writing more; hope you're looking forward to reading more.**

**Turtles and Rockets,**

**xxEcho**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author: .ForeverFrozen. aka Annabella**

**Rating: T for language and other stuff. Too tired to be specific.**

**Pairing: M/R (eventually), cannon pairings, and then there's Musa/Lester......hahah, kidding :) but he gave it his best...**

**I'm a little shakey on this one; parts of it anyway. This chapter's longer than most, mostly because I couldn't pass up the chance to bring Charlie into light more. But here's some more Riven/Musa interaction.**

**Thank you reviewers; and i guess you're getting an update sooner rather than later--Its even 430 am and i'm still up posting this... Can't promise when the next chapter will be up, i'm writing as i go.**

**So, Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 4.**

She couldn't stop staring at him. She'd tried. She'd tried for the longest time not to stare at him while she stood in the dim lighting of his front hallway as he had it out with the blonde—Nuri. But after so much time, resistance was futile. And Musa stared.

Riven looked…well…Musa didn't want to say breathtaking, but that was the only word that came to her mind. He seemed to be, if possible, almost taller, his arms stronger and chest broader. His skin had seen sun (it seemed everyone _but_ she had gained some amount of pigmentation in their skin since their years in Magix together; even _Helia_) and was now a delicious light brown that she wanted her hands on, on every inch of him, running up and down, over… _No! Bad, bad, __**bad **__Musa. No!_

Even with her own mental scolding, somehow her mind began to drift once more. His face was narrower, his violet eyes seemed to scorch everything in their paths. Musa looked at those eyes, framed by his long hair which he wore _down_ and nearly at his shoulders, and she nearly swooned.

Which was bad.

Because she didn't feel…that way…about him?

Riven's golden retriever—she guessed, anyway, that it was a golden retriever—came over to her and his wet tongue began lapping at her hand. Zanzibar was his name, she remembered. A strange name; somehow she guessed that it hadn't been Riven's choice. Even if he'd changed since she'd last spoken to him (which was the day she broke up with him) he was still Riven and he wasn't really a fanatic for naming fuzzy animals who pant around at people's feet.

Nuri cleared her throat. Musa glanced up at her, then back at the dog, and sighed, straightening to stand away from the wall. As if a trigger was being pulled in her mind, her feet unconsciously began to inch toward the door.

"What do you want?" Nuri barked. She was standing, defensive, as she stared down the fairy, as if she owned the right to question her. Musa _really_ didn't like her.

"Cut it out, Nuri," Riven snapped at her. "Didn't you say you were leaving?"

Nuri kicked a bag on the floor backwards and slammed the door shut with her hand. "That was before _she_ showed up." She glared at Musa, crossing her arms. "Now I think I'll be staying the night." She rolled her eyes and glared at Riven—who Musa was piecing together, slowly, to be her boyfriend…or something of the sort—her eyes narrowing conceivably. "If you really believe I'm _stupid_ enough to believe that if I walk out that door, _nothing's_ going to happen, then you're even dumber than I've known this whole time."

Riven's own eyes rolled into the back of his head and he closed them and then Musa realized he was holding his breath. When he opened them, his nostrils flared and he turned from the tall blonde to Musa, gluing her to her spot with those fathomless eyes. "What are you doing here, Musa?"

Musa shifted from foot to foot and her nose scrunched. "Well, damn, don't sound so excited to see me. It's been a real joy for me as well." All she'd wanted was some stranger with a smile who might possibly say '_why sure, little lady, I'd be mighty pleased to be helpin' you out.'_ But, oh no, she got Riven and his PMS girlfriend.

Riven moved back a few steps, moving around Nuri, and opened the door, his arms tensed, veins nearly bulging. "If you don't want to be here, the door's right here. If you go fast enough it might not hit you on your way out."

Musa didn't budge. Musa's heart clenched, reining in the words she knew would push her chances over a cliff. "I'm here because I'm running out of time and I'm desperate—"

His lips pulled into a scowl. "You finally admit that, do you?"

She knew her face was turning red. Her fists clenched at her side. Heart pounding, Musa said the first thing that came out of her mouth, her mind not playing a factor in the matter. "_Babe_, I've _been_ desperate. I slept with you, didn't I?" Behind Riven, Nuri's eyes sparked red. Ooh, she was the jealous type—not that Musa had much ground to stand on the matter.

"I knew it," Nuri muttered, opening her loud mouth to say more. Musa cut her off.

"Shut it, Nuri." She closed her eyes. She hadn't come here to fight; but she hadn't remembered just how _easily_ talking to Riven could turn sour. Musa took a deep breath, stretching up on her toes, and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She looked up at Riven, into his eyes, and her own harsh expression fell. "I didn't come here to yell at you."

"Well, then you're doing a pretty botched-up job at whatever you were trying to do."

"Riven!" She threw her hands up in the air. "God, you make me _so_ mad! I swear, I don't even know why Stella sent me here; she knows you and I can't get along! I don't know why she'd think for a _second_ that you'd be willing to help me!"

Something clicked and Riven's brows furrowed. "Why'd princess sunshine send you to _me?_" As much as he liked to believe otherwise, Stella wasn't random and didn't interfere with their lives just for the fun of it—however, when she did, she did take advantage of the situation and enjoy herself. But it was never out of the blue and if she was sending Musa to _him…_

Musa shrugged. "I didn't know it was you. She handed me an address and said that you'd help me move out of my apartment." She shook her head and stepped towards the door. "Hell, maybe I should just have Charlie's brothers help me. It can't be any more stressful than this even if they _would_ keep half of it for themselves."

The red-haired specialist tensed. "Who's Charlie?"

Nuri took in the way his shoulders tightened when this blue-haired fairy—a goddamn _fairy, damnit!_—had mentioned that guy. The fact that she could illicit such an unintentional response…well, it made her hate the pale bitch more than she had from the minute she saw her. Riven never gave a rat's ass when _she_ mentioned other guys—not until this last time.

"A friend; we used to work together until I got fired." Musa huffed and shrugged her way out the door. "Just forget about it; I'll figure it out. Sorry I bothered you, have a good life," Musa's voice rushed out. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and started her way out down the path, shaking her head. She should have known.

In her head, she mentally checked off her choices. She'd been so _sure_ that Stella's _person_ would pan out. Stella was _so _dead once her little Brandella-spawn was out. Poor little kid would have to grow up without a mommy; course, Brandon could just remarry into Amentia's wonderful family. Musa couldn't imagine that Brandon plus Stella could equal anything _but_ a symmetrical kid, so that would be a plus. _Is it wrong_, she wondered_, to murder your pregnant best friend only weeks before your cousin's wedding?_

God, she hated Stella! Why would she do this to her? She _knew_ how Musa felt about Riven.

"Musa, wait up." She turned around to see Riven coming out of his door, pulling a jacket on over his skin tight black t-shirt. Mind blank, she waited until he was beside her, then she stared at him in question, her eyes expressive in her confusion. "I'm going to help you," he announced without looking her in the eye. "I figure it's better than staying here." Her eyes widened in surprise when he placed a hand on her back, leading her back to the street.

"Riven!" Nuri yelled. She looked positively blood thirsty, her clawed hands gripping the doorknob so tight that if she were to get any more pressure on it, it would surely shatter. Her blonde hair spilled over her tan shoulders. "Where do you think you're going?"

His hand fell, making a fist at his side. "Away from you," Riven threw calmly back. "You want to stay the night? Fine; go right ahead. But I won't." Musa stared at the pair, from Nuri fuming on the doorstep to Riven calmly blowing her off by her side. She wondered what the hell their damage was.

Riven looked down at her and shrugged impatiently. "Well? Lead the way."

Musa blinked and then somehow summoned up enough focus to open a portal. She just hoped it would go to Sperare and not some random black hole in the pits of nowhere. Because when she was like this, there was always that chance.

She crossed her fingers and pushed Riven through.

•○

And she'd thought the bastards could sink no lower. They'd stuck needles in her; they'd burnt her till her skin smelt like a child's summer camp. They'd stretched her skin until it felt she could stretch no further and then they'd kept going; they'd taunted her, beaten her, thrown her in with the more vicious of convicts with only her bare hands to defend herself. They'd kept her frozen to her neck and made her watch the other prisoners throw their magic at each other, at her, completely at their mercy. They'd drugged her and used her as their own lab rat, blending every imaginable substance together just to _see what it did_...

But this….

This was a new low.

Darcy forced herself not to look. If she didn't look, it wouldn't be real. The memory wouldn't exist and she wouldn't know a thing. Because it wasn't there. What wasn't there? Exactly.

Oh no. She was talking to herself again. Darcy severely wished that the twisted doctor would return. He at least brought promise of physical torture and the burning sensations of illegal drugs. He was always a fun mind to swim in.

But no. They'd left _him_ there.

Did they not know who she was?! Did they not know the powers she possessed? Did they not understand that the moment their guard dropped, she would rip their heads from their bodies, she would slit each throat and wash her hands in their blood. She would suspend them above the ground and smile as they fell, crashed, to the cold stone ground where ice would impale their backs till the ship was stained red and smelt of salt and must? Did they not understand that the physical pains she inflicted on them would be nowhere near as bad as that which her magic would allow her to do?

She would enjoy every minute of it. And once they were all dead, she would go back for that traitor, Stormy, and for those annoying pixies and especially Riven and Musa. She would especially enjoy torturing the two of them; oh, how they had shamed her, disgraced her very name. And _no one_ shames Darcy and gets away with it. Not when she has four years to plot revenge; four years of biding her time, deciding how best to get into their minds. It was what she was best at. She would kill them from the inside out, steal their wants and poison them with their own desires. Oh, she would—

"Mommy?'

Darcy's eye twitched. The dark haired boy, his golden eyes shining and wide and _innocent_ stared up at her. His small legs kicked the air and a happy tune came from his throat. Her nails dug into her palms. "What?" she hissed, barely able to keep from screaming.

The little boy smiled happily up at her, dimples—freaking _dimples_—splitting his face. "Do you love daddy?" the boy asked as if being there with the witch were the most natural thing in the world.

Darcy glared at the fluorescent crayons in the child's puny hands—oh, _so easy to break; _the hands, not the crayons—and willed them to melt, to grow legs and attack the smiling child. But the crayons had no minds and they would not bend to her will, even in this hell. And the child—oh, the child was the worst. The child was _pure_ and _untainted_ and _happy_ and even her darkest thoughts could not penetrate his mind.

"No."

The child's mouth fell open in disbelief and he rolled onto his side, propping his arm up by his hand, and stared at her in mute horror. "But you hafta love _Daddy_!"

Darcy's eye twitched again and her wrists chaffed against the metal restraint on the chair. Her shoulders were so tense that her collar bones felt as if they might snap when she cracked her neck, staring at the ceiling with a demented gaze. "I would love _nothing_ more than to watch your father burn in hell; to bleed him dry of every last drop of blood in his body and then bring it back to life so he would have to relive the moment each second of his waking days; so he would see in my eyes the hell I wish upon him and how much I would _love_ to see him grovel, groan, and beg for mercy only to be denied."

The boy cocked his head, considering it. Blessed moments of silence. Darcy reveled in the moments when the child was silent. When he was silent, she could imagine he did not exist and it was _real_. When he was silent, that was.

"Mo-o-o-mmy?" The boy's voice sang out, carefree and jubilant.

"What?" She hissed again, this time the word coming out as barely human. She wanted. Him. _**GONE!**_

The little boy kicked his ankles together. "Do you love me, Mommy?"

Darcy's nostrils flared and her eyes burned. She swore that her teeth would be sand by the time the child was gone—was _that_ their purpose? So she wouldn't bite and claw at them any longer? Well, it was what they **deserved**. They would get what they deserved and more once she was strong enough.

"No," Darcy said harshly, the sure tone of her voice not leaving any room for wavering. It was the truth. Even if she wasn't being subjected to the truth serum, she still would not lie about that.

The little boy blinked. He seemed to be studying her with those eerie golden eyes, the same eyes that she saw in the mirror. Then he turned back to his colouring pages and began his incessant _humming_ again, that wretched smile still adorning his pale face.

•○

"So tell me again why you can't just teleport us into your apartment?"

Musa groaned and twisted her hands around the hand bar as the subway moved at a speed she thought was slower than ever. Peeking an eye open, she glanced at Riven with a scowl on her face. In less than an hour, the man had managed to induce a headache like none she had experienced in years. "Haven't you listened to a single word I've said?"

"Yeah." Riven smirked and kicked a leg up on the empty seat next to him. "You were moaning and groaning about someone stealing your couch. And the money that you had in it. Not really the best place to keep it, I have to say."

Musa's lips pressed into a line. "I wasn't complaining, _Riven_. I just mentioned it." In a rather unsatisfied way. Repetitively.

He leant back, his hands behind his head, and grunted. "Sounded a lot like complaining to me, pixie."

An old man glanced up from his newspaper at the pair and shook his head. Damn boy was too cocky for his own good.

"So you're not talking to me, is that it?"

Musa turned her head to look at Riven—damnit, _why_ had Stella sent her to _him_ of all people? "What's it matter? You don't listen to anything I say unless it can be used as a means of driving me _insane_ later, anyway." Musa glanced up at the screen above the door and frowned. They still had at least seven minutes until they were within _walking_ distance of her building. Musa hoped that Charlie at least could get Marty to hold off the eviction…without any fatalities.

"I'll listen this time; I swear." And purely out of his juvenile spirit, just because he loved to make Musa squirm, Riven crossed his fingers in front of his face, reveling in the flushed colour her cheeks became. "I'm kidding, Muse; I'm honestly curious this time."

Musa turned back away from him, her eyes shut tight. "Stop calling me Muse, _Riv_." She sighed, looking back up at the screen. Six minutes. Of course, telling him would take her mind off of how _infuriatingly_ good he looked…even with the image of a volatile Nuri standing in his door waiting for him back in Magix.

_Dear muses, give me strength…_

"Teleporting's illegal in Sperare. The crime rate's too high for people to be popping in and out randomly so the city's officers had a station set up. People can teleport in and out of that station but only to there. The Mages have set a jinx up so that any violators will be redirected to the security buildings and they'll be paralyzed until the mages take it off." She looked down at her muddy shoes. "I think it also has to do with the fact that a majority of the population _can't_ teleport on their own."

Riven faked a snore.

"Riven!"

He shook, his trademark grin more prominent than ever and his eyes fluttered open too innocently. "What? That was a truly _intriguing_ story, Musie."

She hit her head against the bar. "You're such a dick." The subway pulled to a stop and the doors dinged open. Musa glanced up at the address and groaned.

"Come on," she muttered, grabbing at Riven's sleeve. "We're getting off here." That poor old man didn't need to be a witness to any more of the battle between the two of them.

"Is this the stop?" The pair had barely made it two steps off the tram before it took off, whooshing past them loudly and leaving the debris of the station flying around. Musa pulled her jacket tighter around her as the chill of the night set in.

"Not even close. We're going to walk the rest of the way." Riven quirked an eyebrow at her. "I can't be in a small space with you right now."

And again his flawless face was adorned with that blasted _smirk_. "I'm just that irresistible."

"No, you're just that infuriating." Musa stared down the street once the two had emerged from the entrance. It was raining—of _course_ it was—and the street lights seemed to have a mind of their own but at least she recognized the area. So it wasn't _quite_ as far from her apartment as she thought. The sign at Libby's diner glinted morosely from the street lamp just beside it.

Okay, so she'd admit it; she was bitter about getting fired.

"You hungry?" Musa looked up at Riven; might as well ask before they were too far away. And hell, if he got food poisoning that was only a plus.

"For your cooking? Never."

•○

"Riven, don't even say it."

Musa braced herself against the door and reached up, her hand feeling around the top of the door frame. "Where is it?"

Riven rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he leant leisurely against the wall. "I'm just saying; did you _really_ think that this was the smartest place to put your key?"

"_I_ didn't put my key here, Riven. _Charlie_ puts it here." She was going to have a few words with Charlie once this door was open. "Charlie better be here."

Riven froze. He stared at Musa briefly as she struggled to find the key and then turned and plucked the dull metal from a hook off to the side. "Does Charlie live with you?" This Charlie guy… He wasn't jealous; he _couldn't_ be jealous…Musa jumped but Riven held the key just out of her reach.

"Sometimes." She jumped again, and grabbed his wrist. "Damnit, Riven, just give me the freaking key!" Musa whacked her hand against the back of his head.

"Geez, Muse, don't get your pants in a twist."

"They wouldn't be in a twist, Riven, if you weren't being so difficult!" She jumped again. "Come on, this isn't fair! Just give me the key!" Musa really wished she hadn't such an aversion to heels…

"Grow a foot and you could reach."

"Grow a pair and you wouldn't be running away from your girlfriend like she set your ass on fire." And that got him to stop. Riven shoved the key into her small, cold hand as quickly as he could, his eyes all but freezing over in the time it took to glare at the small pixie. "Thank you," Musa muttered as she twisted the door handle. The words of gratitude, however, seemed to barely illicit a grunt from the tall hero, once again leaning against the wall as if the world was only there to bother him.

For the first time since they'd arrived in the building, Musa noticed a loud, thudding noise coming from her apartment. And laughing; lots of drunken laughter. She threw a panicked glance at Riven—suddenly alert enough to stare at the door, his body at attention like the perfect trained _hero-boy_ he'd practiced to be—and then burst through the door.

Her eyes widened and as Riven stepped in behind her, she did a quick mental head count. Seven sitting around her couch—_her couch!?—_looking wasted beyond compare and smoking something that even from the distance made her head spin. Four more gruff looking men were throwing knives into the wall, seemingly aiming for a target that wasn't there and jeering when they 'missed'. One was passed out on the floor in her kitchen, one was drawing on his face, and then six more were tottering about the living room, pushing each other, dancing drunkenly, and singing loudly off-tune (a happenstance that nearly had _Musa_ throwing knives). Nineteen in all and smack-dab in the middle of it all stood Charlie, soaking up the fumes of the fun little party with a grin on her face and a bottle of who-knows-what that was probably illegal as hell in her hand.

One of the guys, incredibly tall and weighing, she guessed, only three pounds more than herself, knocked into her. "Sorry," he mumbled, hardly able to make the word out. "I'm a thief…and I'm here…something…'bout hearts…" He smiled toothlessly at her—was it even _possible_ to lose that many teeth and still speak?—which turned out as more of a leer and then fell nose-down on the ground.

"Oi, Lester!" Charlie yelled out, her voice cracking at his name. Musa stared at her friend, flushed and shaking with laughter, and shook her head. "Don't be knockin' over the guests!" She shook her head at one of the beefy, bald men standing in the back corner by the window. "Ay Joe, looks like Les's had a bit too much tonight. Down like a log before the ninth round—he musta' started early. Get 'im outta here would you? Don't want 'im clutterin' up the doorstep!" The man moved away from the window and it was then that Charlie seemed to notice just which _guests_ had arrived.

Charlie's forest green eyes widened and she coughed up the strong drink—"Oh, shit. Musey." The tall girl scrambled up from the carpet, tripping over a few of the men in the process. "Damnit, Carl, get off the bloody floor! No one wants you here!"

The curly haired man waved a hand, bottle and all, at her, pushing her bare legs away. "Bugger off, Charlie. You're all so mean to me," he muttered, practically in tears. A depressing drunk, she guessed.

Charlie kicked the man on the side of his head (luckily her feet were bare) and hopped her way over towards Riven and Musa, her dark green coat flapping behind her. So much for getting it cleaned up and cleared out before the Muse got home, Charlie thought.

Riven stared around the room, his jaw twitching, and he grew particularly tense when he sized up the men that he knew could take him without a fight. He didn't like competition and it seemed in this band of ruffians, there were several.

After kicking another of the men out of the way, Charlie stumbled into Musa and placed a hand on her shoulder. She huffed, blowing a chunk of short chocolate brown hair from her face, and smiled almost as if she were ashamed. "Look, Musa, I know I told you I wouldn't have a party again but see…" she waved her hand back at all the men in the room, several of which raised their drinks in a salute to her at the action, "this isn't a party. It's more of a—oi, Broc, whassa word?"

"Familial rendezvous," the biggest of the group called back calmly, his voice booming deep and his accent much more refined than Charlie's own. He appeared to be the most sober of the group.

"Yeah, tha's it." She looked back at Musa. "It's a family ren-dez..ren-deh…get together—business, if you will. Nothing fun at all. Just my brothers." She stuck her thick lip out and batted her lashes at her friend, praying that she'd buy it. But even Charlie wasn't that dumb.

Musa cleared her throat and glanced up at Riven, looking angrier as the moments passed. "Charlie, you're not fooling anyone. I know what kind of _business_ your family's in—and you stole my _couch_!" Her calm, if not eerily detached voice, suddenly hit hysterical heights and Riven stepped away from her.

"We brought it back!" Charlie defended. "Just…" She pointed at the lean, sandy-brown haired man sleeping with his cheek pressed against the couch, mouth hanging open, and shrugged helplessly. "Perry loves couches. And yours is comfortable."

Musa's eyes widened—_"Is he __**drooling**_?!"

Charlie sighed. Musa was such a drama-queen sometimes. Damn couch that did it. "Someone peel Perry off the couch—use a crowbar if you have to!"

Musa shook her head. "Charlie…I can't deal with this!" She looked around the room frantically. "Which one of you is Charlie's favourite older brother?"

The room went dead silent but every hand flew up at the endearment. One of the men on the couch stood up, slowly. His dark hair, greying at the temples, was pulled back in a ponytail at the back of his neck. A single hoop earring hung from his ear and a simple black eye patch covered his left eye—Musa remembered Charlie once saying that it _wasn't_ for show. He stood comfortably in the room, dressed in dark clothes and dignified despite his upbringing, and bowed slightly at the waist with a smirk. And just as quickly as those hands were up, they all fell back down. "That'd be me, Sprite."

Musa sighed, slamming her eyes shut. "Good. Bill, right?"

"Aye."

"Alright, Bill. I'm not going to ask more than once—get them out of here. Now." He nodded once.

Charlie took that as her cue to move and pulled Riven's arm toward the kitchen out of the way of the impending exit. _Hmm_, Charlie thought as she felt Riven's arm with a smirk, _might have to get myself one of these…and the face isn't too bad either_…

Bill cleared his throat and slowly turned his head from side to side, his face nothing but serious in the moment. His eyes darkened, narrowed. "You heard the lady; clear out, all of you! Or do you want me to make something up to tell _**Mum**_?" His voice was deep and resonating a power that it seemed none in their family could argue with—they knew who was in charge.

That was, besides _Mum_, apparently…

And all at once, the apartment had cleared out, dragging with them those that had passed out or were too inebriated to walk a line. Bill was last to leave, with a respectful nod of his head towards Musa and a small wink at his sister—it was _her_ mess to pick up.

Charlie grimaced. The mentioning of her mother could be more sobering than any vat of caffeine in the universe.

Riven looked at Charlie—"The mother card?"

Charlie shook her head. "You don't understand," she whispered, "Mum's a terrifying creature."

Musa sucked in a breath and placed her hands on her hips.

"She's not the only one," Riven muttered secretly to the theif.

* * *

**Tehe, and to think Riven was jealous of Charlie that whole time....**

**Speaking of Charlie, I just have too much fun with her; i'm going to put a list of her brothers here, from oldest to youngest; her parents aren't very creative, though. In fact...they're really just plain.....weird. .**

**So here goes; don't read if you don't want: Bill (mentioned), Frankie, Carl (mentioned), Joe (mentioned), Jack, Neo, Mikey, Elvis, Steve, Lester (mentioned), Jimmy, Pete, Thirteen...yes, thirteen like the number 13, Luke, Perry (mentioned...he likes couches), Sam and Jam the twins, Broc (mentioned), Jimmy Jack. Then there's Charlie. She's the youngest except for the two that aren't born yet, Vientuno and then even later Rummy.**

**haha, i have too much time on my hands.**

**Turtles and Rockets,**

**xxEcho**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author: .ForeverFrozen. aka Annabella**

**Rating: T for language**

**Pairing: M/R eventually, little glimpses of moments here and there.**

**So, sorry for the really long wait. For some reason i just stopped writing the story a few months ago. But i'm getting back (trying to get my mind off another project i''m on). So thanks to everyone who kept with me on this story. This chapter (towards the end) i felt dragged on a little too long but i'm done working with it for now.**

**So, hopefully will be updated more often now. Read, Review, Rinse, Repeat...yanno the drill ;)**

**Thanks, lovelies.**

* * *

**Chapter 5.**

Luckily for all involved, Musa had held in her breath, face a shade of violet to prove it, and stepped out onto the small balcony, closing the rattling doors quietly before she burst out all of her anger and frustration to the hearing world. Even from inside the much-too-small kitchen, though, Riven cringed at the sound and Charlie's hand faltered as she flicked her knife into the surface of the counter. They waited another minute, another exasperated scream, and then finally she stepped back inside, smoothed down her hair, and closed the door behind her with as much dignity as she could muster through her light-headed bout.

"Sorry about that," Musa muttered almost self-consciously. "Been holding that in for seven years."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about it. Even _with_ my hangover that was barely a whisper compared to my family. Especially on stew night."

"There's a nightmare waiting to happen." Riven sat in the peeling chair backwards, his arms crossed over the top.

The thief stopped her hand, plucking the knife from the butchered counter, and her forest green eyes trailed over the red-haired hero for the longest moment, before going back to her friend. "I like him," she announced to Musa with a smirk, her teeth playing at her plump lips. "I don't know where you find 'em, Musey, but he's hot. In fact, if you two weren't so perfect for each other then I'd be all over 'im faster than my Grandmum's claws on the first person who walks into her cave."

Riven balked. "Is your whole family completely mad?"

"I wouldn't fit in otherwise."

"You were disowned," Musa muttered. "How does that imply fitting in?"

"It's how mum and dad show their love." She smiled. "The only one who was never disowned was Carl. He just sits up in his room. No one ever includes him in family outings. Or in anything. No one likes Carl. Except Grandmum."

Musa shook her head. "You'll never cease to surprise me."

Charlie shrugged. "I'm just saying, is all, Musa, that if it was _me_ bunkin' up with 'im, you _know_ there'd better be a lock on the door or god help the fly that lands on _that _wall."

The sound that came from Riven, Musa guessed, was a mix between a nervous snort and some form of laugh.

"If you're so eager to get him in bed, you two can just take the bedroom. I'm sleeping on the couch." So it might have just been her way of pushing away Charlie's claims, but still…her couch had been missing for weeks. And it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the beaten mattress that called itself a bed in her room.

With a sigh, "It's like you don't know me at all." Charlie's full lips pulled into a pout, her forest eyes dancing with delight and amusement. She took amusement in the oddest things, from Libby's accidentally catching every hair on his body on fire to her tale of a fish that flopped across a desert just to swim in the legendary oasis. Then her eyebrow did a small dance and Charlie winked at Riven. "I was talking about the closet."

The girls hadn't even noticed him there since he questioned the sanity of Charlie's not-so-illusive family so when a thud came from his direction, both shook their heads in alarm. Riven slammed his forehead against the cracked wooden table again.

"What's 'e doin'?" Charlie muttered to Musa, eyeing the crazy flame-headed hero she'd been so apt on bone-jumping minutes before. (Now that it seemed he'd lost his mind, she figured she might have to reconsider.)

The fairy rolled her eyes. "He doesn't like people talking about him."

"No," Riven protested. He turned his head to look up towards the women. "I don't mind being the subject of a conversation—in fact, it's quite an ego booster"—Musa muttered, 'as if you need it' and Riven smirked—"but if you're going to talk about me, don't act like I'm not in the room. On this topic I've got more inside information than the both of you put together."

Musa slammed her eyes shut just as her cheeks went red. She was holding her breathe again and, as most things in life did, it amused Charlie to no end. This time, however, because she knew where Musa's thought had drifted to. Charlie knew all about Musa's dirty little not-so-secret with Sir Arse-of-a-god.

The princess's deep blue eyes opened slowly and she refused to look past her tall friend in front of her. She wouldn't even allow her gaze to drift to her ex sitting in her peeling kitchen chair—her hand against the side of her face wouldn't let it happen. "Are you staying tonight?" she asked, hoping beyond belief that Charlie might say yes.

"Are you kidding?" Charlie laughed and stuck her dagger into the leather of her oversized boots. "You being here sort of ruins the fun, don'tcha think? Besides," Charlie grinned happily and licked her lips, "It's Bill's turn to make the squirrel stew."

_Seriously_? Riven balked. "Squirrel stew? Are you kidding?"

Charlie's eyebrow arched, challenging him. "I don't joke about squirrel stew. It's Grandmum's birthday and the irony pisses her off even more than _I_ do—which by the way is pretty damn difficult to beat." An unmistakably feminine giggle came from her lips. "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"You have dinner at three in the morning?"

"As good a time as any," Charlie said.

Riven looked at Musa as her friend danced out the door. "What now?" he asked.

Musa frowned as she looked into his violet eyes. She felt like she was on a roller coaster, but now that Charlie was gone, it was spinning into another loop. Musa shrugged her shoulders. "I'm going to get some rest. We can start clearing this place out when the sun's actually up."

The specialist nodded. "Fair enough. Do you want me to crash on the couch?"

She snorted. "Are you kidding? I just got that thing back. I'm sleeping on the couch." And she stalked off to do just that, kicking a bottle of—whatever out of her way.

•○

Helux had always been a resourceful man. When opportunity knocked, he made sure he was the one there to answer no matter the carnage it left behind. Though he believed it to be one of the best qualities in a soldier, it was why he was no longer part of the Elitlerin; why his Captain had closed him out and sent him to this _place_. This place…was below him; he was _not_ a delivery boy, yet still eight years later he remained on the godforsaken vessel with the untrained ninnies with no glimpse of anything past their parents' homes. The General _knew_ he had so much more potential than the worms that had been sent out with the troops in his place. _He_ should be leading them. The General _knew_ he would draw blood without so much as a wince, unlike those inexperienced, naïve _specialists_ that Red Fountain and every other academy in the realms had spit out as waste after coddling and pampering for years and years.

Whatever respect—grudging respect at that—he may have had for the school, he all but lost once that weak, bird-loving old man was in control. The old gaffer may have corrupted the child to grow into a bird, but his influence would never touch this one…no, this one would grow to be a man, as _he_ was. The _sparrow_ would be no more than a vague memory, a glimpse of defeat snuffed out by a greater power. This boy would learn in the way that the bird never did, though try he had. Where the bird had been weak, this boy would be strong, strong enough to forever cut out the sparrow from the world and its memory.

He looked in through the frosted two-way mirror to the boy 'playing' with his mother. He'd let the boy enjoy it while it lasted because within the next three years, when the boy reached five years of age, the boy would never again think to smile in that way at his mother again. That was when his training would begin, not like the toe-dipping that he was going through now. The boy would be a hardened soldier, a genius mastermind, and a bloodthirsty killer by the age of seven, so help him. Lieutenant General Helux Esposito would not fail again.

"Sir, she's getting angry." The guard said—the doctor, as he pretended to be, had no use for names in this place and referred to the guards only as they were; no one was important enough to warrant a name save for his most esteemed prisoners, those with power. The squeamish boy flinched after he'd said it, realizing his mistake. His posture corrected and he pointed his laser-gun down, his hand shaking for lack of knowledge of how to use it, and he bowed his head slightly in submission at the terrifying tyrant who ran the prison shuttle to the Omega dimension. "Should I retrieve the boy, sir?"

The Lieutenant threw a long glare at the withering guard and peered into the room with utmost curiosity. Every week for the last two years, they had subjected the witch to 'quality time' with her son and every week she seemed more and more adamant of trying to be rid of the 'thorn', as she called him. He was curious how far she would go until she cracked, but he could not risk his only heir in the while. As the witch's fingers began to burn with the dark matter she wielded, a slow, sadistic grin grew across the doctor's face.

"Yes, he's done for now."

A sparking ball of matter hit the frozen ground precisely on one of the books his son adored and the paper disappeared. Well trained not to show surprise, the Lieutenant simply pursed his lips. "Put her back on ice one he's out. She needs to learn some self control." He watched the dark haired toddler squeal in delight, his small hands clapping. _Do it again, mommy_, the boy cheered.

Helux's grip on the ledge tightened. No, he promised himself, he would _not_ let this one turn out like the sparrow. No _real_ son of his would ever be that weak. He remembered the tears in the boys eyes all those years ago when the small bird had perished in his hands. He remembered looking out on the child minutes later to see him weeping over the corpse as he placed it in a shallow grave in the earth. His fury still reached him now, twenty years later, and he swore it would never happen again. That bird-child was a glitch, a mutation in his strong family line, and it _would not_ repeat itself. The boy's mother had been weak, but this witch was strong.

The small boy skipped out the heavy door with a grin on his face, his golden eyes alight and merry, dimples splitting his cheeks. He stopped in front of his father and stared up at him. For a moment, the man thought he saw in the boy another but shook himself from his terror. No, that _bird_ was dead to him. Dead to the _world_ as far as he cared, and his _son_ would not follow the footsteps.

Helux pulled the boy's embracing arms away from his legs. "To your quarters, solider," he commanded gruffly.

The toddler's nose flared, holding back tears at his father's brush off (he knew that if he let them fall, he'd be in more trouble than he already was), and raised a puny hand to his forehead in salute. "Sir, yes sir," he feebly mumbled out. He turned away from his father, to follow another guard, and in a blink of an eye, as children often were, his spirit was returned tenfold and he shot off, the slow, overweight guard lugging behind to catch up.

The Lieutenant's teeth ground together in agitation. How he wished children grew faster.

•○

Musa was glad, when she woke up, that Riven was already awake—well, somewhat, anyway. She cracked an eye open, peered around the gloomy yet bright living room, and sat up uncomfortably. She had slept in her clothes and they were twisted in awkward positions, pulling against skin where they shouldn't have.

He must have found her stash of coffee grounds—which she kept only for those mornings where she might as well have been comatose when it came to waking up—because the whole apartment reeked of the bitter drink.

Riven looked over at her, his eyes sly and mocking—she recognized that look. It was the look he'd worn so often before the thought of them being together had been even a whisper, the one that said he had a few things up his sleeve that he was more than willing to throw before the sun set.

Here we go, Musa thought.

"Did you want coffee?" he asked cordially.

Musa shook her head. "Why? What'd you do to it?"

"I drank it all." The way he had said it, Musa could tell that he thought it would get under her skin. But instead she just shrugged.

"I actually have to thank you for that. It's been sitting in that cupboard for two years. I didn't know if it was actually any good anymore." For all she knew, Charlie might have hidden some illegal drugs or wasp-rat poisoning in that jar. Musa smirked. If he was playing the game, she wasn't giving in at 'go'. And with all of Charlie's brothers having invaded her apartment the last few days, she honestly _didn't_ know if anything had made its way into that coffee.

Riven's smile was still as bright as before. "I started packing for you." It was ironic, in a way, how even when they were fighting and trying their best to cause the other to snap that Musa was the only one Riven ever really smiled with.

"Really?"

"Yeah." The _hero_ pointed over to a box sitting outside of her bedroom door. "_Everything_ is in there. Emptied every drawer and box in your closet." That wicked, taunting smirk grew. "If your stick sisters saw what you had hidden in your drawers, I think they'd be very disappointed in you, Musey."

Musa's face went blank. It took all of her early-morning non-existent mental strength to keep from lunging at him and making his face turn blue, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response, either. Musa briefly wondered if there was some sort of jinx put on them that made it impossible for her to have a civil thought towards the jello-head.

A loud, creaking knock sounded from the front door. The pair stared at the cracking wood in silence for a moment. For Musa, it was because she was attempting to connect the sound with a meaning (damn him for drinking all the rat-poisoned coffee!) and for Riven it was because he was listening very closely to the movements of the person on the other side. His five years of with the Interrealm Company of Knights were just icing on the cake of his survival training which he'd started at five years old. Within ten seconds, Riven could tell what gender the person was, roughly their age, their height, build, and a vague idea of what they were wearing. Heart rate and breathing patterns could be figured within the following fifteen.

Whoever the person was, he was straining himself in retaining his anger. Riven wasn't surprised; Musa had a way of pissing people off. And by the time he'd figured all that, Musa finally felt the anger seeping through her skin from the person who knocked.

Riven had left his saber in his jacket. He may not enjoy doing heroic deeds (especially in the morning for a pissy Musa), but it was still his duty as a Knight of the Realms. If the person posed a threat, he'd be less use than Musa (though he sulkily admitted the fact) were she to use her powers. If he could get to the person before whoever it was that attacked, he figured he could get a few good punches in.

The knock sounded again, heavier and more urgent. (Musa was glad she'd soundproofed the door.)

Riven's stance was calm, if not relaxed. He quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head in the direction of the visitor—"You expecting someone?"

Musa's nose crinkled. "No," she bit out. Was he accusing her of something now? Damn, she really needed a reality adjustment. Maybe a weekend away—all this Riven in so little time made her feel murderous on a whole new scale. Musa ground her teeth together, "Why? Did you invite your girlfriend?"

If Musa was playing the 'don't-let-it-get-to-you' game, Riven was playing it better and he'd already won. His lips twitched into that half-smirk of his and he held her glare calmly without even moving at all. Musa rolled her eyes and spun on her heel, stomping towards the door.

As soon as whoever was at her door was gone, she was gonna—

The door swung open just as the person pounded again. Red faced and unshaved, Marty, her landlord, stood with his fist where the wood used to be, his whole arm the colour of a strawberry. The thin man's cold green eyes glared at her through bushy brown and grey eyebrows. Musa smiled as cordially as she possibly could and turned back towards the specialist. "Oh, look, it _is_ your girlfriend, Riven!"

Marty, apparently, didn't think it was funny either.

"Can it," the man growled in a deep rasp. It sounded as if his lungs and throat were permanently lined with the illegal narcotics he smoked like a lifeline. Marty poked his thin head in the apartment and his face soured. "I want you out of here." Seeing Riven for the first time, his eyes narrowed. "Roommates are extra—so you owe me double."

Riven stepped forward, his arms crossed and imposing. "She doesn't owe you anything for me. I'm not a roommate."

"Stay out of this, Riven," Musa muttered. She inched the door marginally more shut, forcing Marty's head back out and she stood in front of the gap. "Look, Marty, the eviction notice said noon. It's not even eight yet; I'll have your money then."

"Plus forty percent interest."

Musa balked. "What the hell for? I don't owe you anything other than this month's rent."

Marty leered at her discriminatingly. "Don't think I don't know about all your little magic tricks that you play with up here. It'd be so easy for me to have an officer here in three minutes. And this would be what? Your…third offense?" The older man shook his head in what seemed like pity; Musa knew better. "Third time's more than enough reason to have you locked up for a few years and your magic bound, _princess_."

Riven's stance tightened.

Musa laughed in his face, surprising both men. "You're threatening me?" She nodded slowly, a wide smile spread across her face—Marty saw it and his face fell in the sense of foreboding. "You've been smuggling narcotics in from Whelt'mi under the radar for longer than I've been here and you're threatening _me_? And that's not even considering the stolen power blocks you've been selling off." Musa wasn't one who liked to see other people in distress—but Marty had tried blackmailing her and so she'd gladly make an exception. She was a _princess_, damnit. "It'd be such a shame if the officers came by and found any of that in your apartment wouldn't it?" she said quietly. "In fact, it might even make you lose all your tenants."

Though he was glaring, Riven could see the fear in his eyes and Musa felt his panic through the static-fused air between them. Riven smirked to himself in pride—Musa was better at this than he'd ever thought she'd be—and Musa smiled smugly, thinking the same thing.

She tiled her head up at the man and widened her deep blue eyes innocently. "But you can call the officers here. After all, I _broke the law_," she said in a faux pout.

Marty met her gaze (awkwardly) for barely a few seconds and then he slapped a paper on the door. "I expect all my money at noon and all your shit out of here." It didn't take any empathy to sense the bluff.

Eyes hard, she said, "No interest. I pay the straight rent and that's it." Her landlord grumbled, giving neither a submission nor refusal, and stormed off down the steps in a huff. Musa laughed to herself grimly—she could have sworn she saw smoke steaming from his ears.

Closing the door quietly, Musa's brows furrowed. _What did that even accomplish_, she wondered. Frowning, she looked around the apartment. "Okay…" _What now_?

Riven chuckled. "I can see why you wanted to live here for so long. That guy's great. He seems really considerate about his renters."

"Riven…" She was about to say more, but then Musa just shook her head and a small squeak left her mouth. "I'm screwed."

"How so?"

"I have enough to pay rent, but that's it." Riven moved closer and crouched down in front of her. "I haven't had time to look for a new place—not that I have the money to get one now since Libby fired me—and I don't have a place to stash this shit until I can sell it to get a new place where I won't be able to put it because I sold it." She looked around, feeling overwhelmed. _Not the couch; the couch stays_. She looked up at Riven, pushing away the urge she had to somehow insult him, and she sighed. "Was I an idiot to try to do all this on my own?"

His smirk was always there, always taunting her both verbally and nonverbally. "You're always an idiot, Musa, and nothing you do will change my mind about that." She reached out and shoved him, causing him to sway on his feet a bit; he laughed. "The thing is, we're all idiots. You needed to do this on your own for some reason, right?" Musa considered it and then nodded. "It's part of finding out who you are—without your jinx club bailing you out of every small thing. Sometimes you just gotta go it alone because if you never learn it'll never get any easier."

She glared at him—if he knew the reason why she'd decided she had to go all the way to Sperare, he wouldn't be so cordial about making her feel better about her fears. It was almost enough motive for her to tell him—because it'd set the universe back into its place and they'd start fighting again—but it just wasn't quite _enough_. She felt like she'd failed—she'd left to find her own two feet but instead in the end she was leaning on him, looking for his words to make her feel better. She'd promised herself she'd never do that.

"Well then, mister wise-man, why the hell are you trying to make me feel better? Got any other snippets of wisdom for an undeserving mortal like me?" She stood up and walked around him, standing in the middle of the room. She was frowning, trying to shut down the voice in her head that was telling her things she didn't want to hear, so she grumbled, "I was talking to myself, anyway. It's rude to interrupt people like that."

Riven pulled to his feet and leant against the door emotionlessly. "That settles it, then. You are insane."

Musa shrugged him off ('_screw you!'_ she wanted to yell) and slammed her eyes shut, concentrating. She raised her hands subtly up to waist level and her palms spread up towards the ceiling. The air around her buzzed with sparks, churning around her aura as they tried to break free, and then finally she said so softly it almost went unheard, "Riporre." Riven took a step back, wondering what type of magic she'd done so _flamboyantly_ throughout the entire apartment. The sparks raced each other, spreading to every crevice and corner of the loft, cupboards and under rugs alike, and the sparks gathered around every object individually, charging them with their luminescent power, until one by one the objects seemingly imploded, leaving a glowing stain in their wake.

"What are you doing?" Riven wondered aloud as her apartment vanished little by little. Even small things stuck under the molding of the walls glowed; things she hadn't known were there.

"Packing," Musa whispered very quietly so as not to disturb the magic. One by one, after the whole loft was lit up with the bright white glow of her magic, the spots shook, quivering under what seemed like enormous pressure, and then they bolted back to Musa, hovering right in front of her closed eyes. Second by second, one by one, the spots individually retreated to her, leaving its previous spot completely empty behind it, until the globe before her composed of ethereal energy was so large it actually surrounded her and Riven held up his hand to block it from his eyes.

"Musa…"

With a loud crack, the light seemed to snap, rushing in a thin stream, seemingly into Musa's mouth, and her eyes snapped open like she was being drowned. Her arms shook and she doubled over, her head straight back as the magic strained into her. The last of the energy was gone, at last, and Musa fell face first onto the ground, heaving and coughing.

"Musa!" Riven rushed over to her and turned her over, her back against the floor and then she went from gasping to laughing. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye as she lay on the floor, positively shaking. Riven sat back, confusion written across his face in plain language.

"Shit," Musa rasped out, chuckling. She peeked an eye at Riven and started laughing again. "That's the last time I do that spell. Aw, man," she sat up and coughed again, trying to expel something in her throat that wasn't there physically. She jokingly glared at the specialist, her eyes crinkled and mouth pulled in a disgusted grimace. "Have you ever tasted a busted mattress? Or a dusty bookcase?" Musa put a hand on his shoulder and pushed herself up. "Not a fun taste."

"What the hell kind of spell was that?" Clamouring to his feet, Riven grabbed her shoulder, stopping her from stomping out the door.

Musa rolled her eyes. "Packing spell, Riven. Keep up." It wasn't enough of an answer for him, and Musa sighed. "Look around, Riven." He did, taking in the empty, stained apartment with all its cracks and rips in the wall. "I did a modification of a traditional packing spell, tying it into my magic and I used an old word of Sperare. Basically, everything that belonged to me here will remain _in_ my magic until I say the word again." Musa winced and held a hand up, rubbing at the top of her chest, just below her collarbone. "Didn't expect it'd hurt this much."

Riven shook his head. "Where are you going to keep that stuff, Musa? You can't keep it in"—he squirmed, trying to find the word—"your…magic for long."

"I'll be fine."

"Musa, you asked me to tell you if you were being stupid. You are."

The fairy glared and ripped her arm from his grasp. She stomped out the door, impatiently waiting for him to follow. He did, slowly but surely, and she locked up the door behind her before stomping down the stairs.

"Well you did," Riven insisted halfway down the flight. Musa spun so quickly she momentarily lost her balance and he reached out, steadying her.

"No," Musa seethed. "I asked if I was being an idiot. I never said anything about stupid."

"Well you are being an idiot."

Musa searched his face, her lips falling into a frown, and then she turned back and continued walking down the stairs. "I'm not being an idiot. I'm being resourceful. I don't exactly have anywhere to keep any of it and can't carry it around while I'm trying to find a place to stay."

"What about your dad's?" The pair had turned away from the stairs, venturing farther into the dark building, but when Riven said that, Musa tripped over her own foot.

"I haven't spoken to my father since…" Her throat closed up tightly and she glanced at Riven out of the corner of her eye. "A while ago. We got into an argument my senior year and it still hasn't really blown over yet."

Riven knew that Musa's father could be a tight ass, but he also knew he loved his daughter above everything else. Riven honestly couldn't imagine anything that would make him angry with her. "You could leave it at my place," he offered. "I have an extra room and I'm never there anyway."

Musa crossed her arms and looked at him—really looked. "That's sweet, Riven, but I don't think your girlfriend would like it."

"It doesn't matter. She doesn't live there, anyway."

Though she was entirely confused, Musa nodded. "Thank you, Riven." And as much as it scared her how much she meant it, it scared her even more that she had such trouble saying it.

* * *

**I think this is one of the longest chapters yet. Helux...is honestly a very interesting character to me (And if anyone can guess his little secret [little birdy] then i just might fall off my chair and go into a coma. Probably not, because even I'm not that dramatic).**

**Anyway, enjoy your fan-ficing.**

**Turtles and Rockets,**

**xxEcho.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Rating: T for language, etc.**

**Pairing: Overall, M/R. Bits and pieces of others along the way. (however, i'm completely anti Darcy/Riven, fyi)**

**This chapter's just mostly the light-hearted, calm before the storm chapter. That's about all i have to say about it. If you recognize anything from anywhere else, then credit is where credit is due.**

**So, thanks for visiting and read on!**

* * *

Chapter 6.

It was times like these when she felt older than she really was. She'd just turned twenty-five, for crying out loud and she already felt like she was forty. What was worse was that when people looked at her, they saw someone nearly ten years her senior. Her face was drained of its vivacity, harsh lines in place of her youthful appearance, and her hair was plagued by intense grey streaks, almost drowning out the rest. She leant against the window, her forearm pressed against the pane, and as she stared out onto the street she mused about the moment when it had all started becoming such. She could put her finger right on the exact second—because she'd memorized it, playing it over and over in her head; she'd dreamt about it for years, tossing and turning as it plagued her mind—when it all went wrong and she knew exactly why. And now she just felt so…old. She was too old to be young yet too young to be old, now. She didn't really know how to fit into the world on her _own_—she never had. There had always been someone to tell her.

The constant squeak of the springs stopped suddenly, replaced by a long, full-hearted wail. "Shut up, Nieve! It's not true!" The little girl with curly tyrian hair fell onto the mattress, clamping her hands over her ears and she hid her face in the soft pink sheets. "Stop it, it's not true," she chanted, the words coming out muffled and hysterical.

"It's true. Dad left because he didn't love us. He _killed_ himself so that he wouldn't have to be there when we were born," Nieve said through a slight premature lisp, her black eyes glinting maliciously. The little girl sat coolly on her own bed, smiling as she watched her twin sister's show of denial. "He doesn't love you, Taisie."

"Nieve, that's enough," the woman snapped. She swiveled on her feet and turned towards the dark-haired girl who looked up at her in what _should_ have been an innocent expression. Storming over, she knelt down in front of the toddler and harshly stared into her eyes—the girl stared back, matching her in intensity and just as emotive. "Don't you _dare_ talk about your father that way, young lady. He loved you—he loved _all of us_—and he didn't kill himself."

Little Nieve laughed, her voice twinkling against the sudden still of the room—Taisie had finally quieted down. "Doesn't matter. He's still dead." Her cruel words sent her sister into another fit of tears and the pale girl smiled at the sound. She lay back in her bed and pulled her pink blanket up to her chin and rolled away from her mother, feigning sleep.

The violet-haired woman shook her head in disbelief and her hand fluttered over her daughter's forehead, never touching the skin, as if she were feeling for the thoughts behind the small girl's sharp words and cruel eyes. Even if she could, though, she wasn't sure she would be able to fathom it. With a sigh, she shook her head and patted her shoulder, then stood and walked over to her other daughter's bed.

The girl, tears streaming from her contrastingly colourful eyes, launched herself into her mother's lap and she clung on as if her life depended on it. The woman stroked her soft purple hair, shushing her, and rocked her in her lap.

"She was lying, right mommy?" the girl whimpered into the woman's bunched up shirt as it became more and more damp with tears. The woman sighed and stared up at the empty ceiling—she so _wished_ she didn't feel so _old_.

"She was, sweetie," she assured her softly. "Your daddy will always love you." She glanced over at the still form of Nieve and frowned slightly as she raised her voice barely, "both of you." _Even despite the fact that there's something severely wrong with you, Nieve, your father loves you_, she thought to herself. And with all her broken, prematurely aged heart, she truly believed it.

•○

Magic or no, heights were never nice to her. One way or another, she always ended up trapped by them and _sure_ she could fly out of the situation in theory…but it was the sheer principle of the fact that they terrified her that kept her from remembering that fact. Especially when the said height was more than two hundred feet from the ground (and she hadn't even been that high up in a _building_ where there was something to stand upon, let alone in a tree).

She'd just left Riven's apartment—just left Nuri's _screaming_, more of—after she'd _vomited_, for lack of a better word, the magically contained inside of her apartment. Riven, stressed out due to his girlfriend's blind rage at seeing the blue-haired fairy again, was quite on edge by the time she'd fled to the street and teleported away. While she scrounged up a few things she'd need for the next week, he stood in the doorway cringing at the octave of the blonde's voice, occasionally throwing a rebuttal to some well-aimed hit she'd take. When she was finally ready to leave, she'd been so completely smothered by the negative emotions in the apartment that she herself couldn't help but yell a few choice words at Riven (who, of course, had no problem spewing an argument and insult or two right back). Her head had been pounding and she felt like there were walls pressing her in, forcing everything inside of her to _stay_ unaltered where it was, and she just _had_ to get out of there. She _had_ to.

And then, four minutes later, she realized the very good reason that inter-realm personal transportation was frowned upon and highly discouraged.

She clung to the thin, wavering branch that she'd somehow landed on like her life depended on it (because it quite possibly did) and she closed her eyes tightly, willing herself not to open them; not to look down. Because when she looked down, she realized just how much of a drop it was. And if she realized how far the drop was, then she was afraid it wouldn't take long for her to fall.

"Okay, Musa," she told herself with shaky breath, "you can do this. Don't need to call for help. Just climb down." And just how _embarrassing_ would it be if she had to call for help now? She'd have to explain it all—why she'd decided to teleport directly instead of going to the station, why she was clinging to a branch of the tree instead of flying down, why her jeans had ripped—leaving her in just her underwear and shirt—and were now a new flag that the tree wouldn't let go of, why she was still so horribly furious with the strange devil that was Nuri even after she was nowhere in sight…

Because really, what _was_ that girl's deal? She acted like Musa was a home wrecker—and she may have trashed one or two of her ex's apartments in the past, but that was home wrecking, not being a home-wrecker—whenever Riven was within shouting distance. Musa wondered what bug had crawled up her painted on pants that made her so short tempered; not just with her, but with Riven too. Musa had known jealous girlfriends—she'd even been one for a while—but Nuri tipped the scale entirely in a different direction. It wasn't like Musa was even trying to move in on Riven—because she wouldn't go there again (she wouldn't, right?). Nuri was hostile and she had hated Musa from the second on sight and it seemed like Riven hardly wanted anything to do with her sometimes….

So then why was Musa so jealous?

She shook her head, clearing the thought (the insane, horrible, completely _ridiculous_ thought) from her head and the branch swayed again, and this time she heard it creak. Insanely, she started screaming out every available curse word that she could think of in her scared state—because, she thought, maybe if she had less words weighing her down the branch (as thin as it was) wouldn't snap and it wouldn't kill her and she wouldn't have to be buried at twenty-one.

Instead, on some subconscious level, she knew it just made her look like an idiot.

The branch snapped—it completely ignored her when she started begging it, hands folded and eyes skyward, to _please not snap_. Branches weren't exactly known for their politeness.

She hurtled towards the ground, still holding onto the branch with a deadlock grip, and her eyes were as tight as she possibly thought they could go without being sucked inward. She screamed the whole way down, all the way from the initial fall to the inevitable _smack_ when her bones all were crushed one by one as she became a Fifth Moon of Marigold pancake—an idea she'd have to pitch to Libby because it would just fit so well with the rest of his menu (people-cakes. Yum).

Only…she'd been falling for a whole minute (and she'd figured out it wouldn't take that long to be face-planted in the grass) and the 'inevitable' thwack still hadn't happened.

She reached her arms out, feeling for the ground. It probably wasn't the greatest idea, considering if she was falling, her skinny arms would be the first thing to snap. If she was going to die, she didn't want to do so painfully. For another three seconds, nothing happened, She didn't touch anything, and she was just swatting at air.

Musa opened her eyes.

"Having fun there, sweetie?" Flora laughed, her face almost directly in front of Musa's. Her green eyes were bright and shining in the sun, the wind blowing her dual toned hair gently around her face as she laughed—Musa felt some sort of envy, fleeting at worst, for her friend. No one should look that pretty and peaceful even if they _were_ getting married. It just made the others falling from trees about to get skewered by pine cones look worse.

Musa, realizing that Flora had set some sort of levitating spell on her, nodded her head and relaxed, putting her hands behind her head as a fake show of leisure. "Yeah. Just playing a little game of hide and seek with my cousin, you know. Passing the time."

Flora smiled and nodded slowly. "Right. I'm guessing this is the same cousin I'm marrying, right?"

"Yup; don't have any others. But now you've given my position away. I guess I'll have to find another one."

The flower fairy laughed again. "Helia left this morning, Musa."

Musa shrugged playfully. "I guess that explains why he hasn't found me yet." She waved her arms around, seemingly swimming through the air without actually moving. Pointedly, her blue eyes locked on Flora. "Can you let me down now? This is really weird and I have no pants."

With a smile and a roll of her eyes, Flora waved her hand gently and Musa slowly dropped to the ground, managing to land on her feet. "Thanks, Flo."

Flora hugged Musa lightly and then grabbed onto her elbow, headed back towards the small homely cottage. "So why were you really in the tree?"

Musa winced and stared down at her shoes. "I uh…tried to teleport here. From Magix."

"That explains the tree-hugging," Flora quipped, smirking at her friend. "No offense, sweetie, but with your teleporting skills, it's a wonder you didn't end up _in_ the tree. I don't think the trees would've been to happy if you'd done that."

She glared at the trees with mock sincerity. "That's something we have in common. And hey," she defended, "I'm actually getting better at it." Flora gave her an incredulous look. "Well, better than I was when I was ten, anyway."

They came up to the porch and Musa hopped up on the railing, Flora leaning against it beside her. Flora put her warm hand against Musa's cool forehead. "Are you feeling okay, sweetie? Your voice sounds a little more scratchy than usual."

The musical fairy put a hand to her throat and laughed. It was really a nice change, being around Flora. Especially after the overwhelming chaos that was Nuri and Riven—she wouldn't let herself think of them as a single unit (and she didn't know why, because she was _over _him). Flora was calm and serene and sweet and Musa always felt sincerity coming off of her in waves. It was comforting and soothing. Musa shrugged off her friend's concern. "It's nothing. Just another one of my spells gone wonky."

"You're probably just out of practice." It was true, but they both knew that the main reason behind her spells going wrong was her lack of focus and her stormy emotions. Emotions always complicated everything—but they made everything better, too. Flora just hoped that Musa would realize that; she didn't want her friend to end up bitter because she'd held her emotions in. She'd always done that up until the point when she and Riven were together and then again after they broke up and Flora could see how horribly it was weighing her down.

"Don't pity me," Musa said randomly, picking up on the feeling shed from Flora's train of thought. She frowned—did they all _pity_ her?

"Sorry," Flora apologized, a pink blush staining her tanned cheeks. "I'm not used to you doing that."

"I don't like doing it, I just can't control it." She swung her legs back and forth and her nose crinkled. "I like having my own sense of self without everyone else's feeling pressing into me." Just for the fun of it, she pressed her hand against where her heart was. "I've only got so much of this to go around."

There was silence then and Musa could hear Ivy humming sweetly from the garden. It was a roses day, even if the house did smell nauseatingly like pie. The birds flew around in the sky (she wondered how they could stand being so far from the ground without any assurance that they'd stay up) and everything was just…peaceful. Before, she'd been overwhelmed by it. She'd been craving for something _loud_ and exciting to happen—but nose she was just sitting there with one of her best friends. "Sometimes," she mused aloud, "you have to appreciate the classical to really understand the rock." Not everyone she knew would have understood it if she said it out loud, but Flora did. She smiled.

"How did it go with Stella?" Flora asked after a while. She hadn't seen her blonde friend for about four months—when her pregnancy had started to show, the vain girl—and she really missed her. Stella had been sort of an anchor for her for a while when it felt like everyone was leaving. Flora loved her friends and she couldn't stand it—first Musa left, then Bloom, then Techna went off with Timmy to run some company on her home planet and Layla had to rule Andros for her sick father. After that, everyone slowly (quickly in some cases) started to drift apart. It had been four years since she and most of her friends had actually been _together_ but through all that, Stella and Layla had been there as much as they could. Stella had even designed and specially made her wedding dress.

Musa frowned. "Was that yesterday?" She could have sworn it felt like so much longer with all that had happened. "Crazy day," she muttered mostly to herself. Flora waited paitently. "Well," Musa said at last, meeting her friend's eye with a smirk, "It was pretty good. When I got there she hid under her blanket—why didn't you mention she was pregnant?"

Flora shrugged sheepishly. "She gets a little touchy about it sometimes."

The fairy scoffed. "Touchy, sure. But anyway, she got me someone who helped me move all my stuff from my apartment. Then she went and had her baby. Practically in front of me."

"You were there?" Flora's eyes balked a little—she'd never seen a childbirth. She didn't want to, and she knew the idea of how it worked, but she couldn't stand the thought of ever _seeing_ one.

With another shrug, Musa waved her hand. Technicalities. "Not _exactly_. She kicked me out before it actually happened." The princess kicked at a leaf that had fallen onto the deck. "Not that it really would have mattered, anyway. It's nothing I haven't seen before." Or _gone through_ for that matter; not that Flora knew about that, though.

She _really _didn't know about it. Flora turned to her quizitively. "When have you ever seen…that?" She was blushing and she couldn't say it. It was just so personal. Flora wasn't entirely a prude, but she wasn't going to go around flaunting something like…that.

"I've actually—" Musa scratched at her cheek quickly and then started biting at her fingernail. "It was just something I saw like once; it's no big deal. Like, a long time ago. Or something. I've just seen it." Musa hopped down off the banister and stretched her arms above her head, faking a yawn. "Man, I'm bushed." Her eyes shifted around—she could feel that Flora knew she was making all this up. But she never claimed to be an actress—that was Stella. Suddenly, Musa came up with an idea—a wonderfully delicious idea that had _absolutely_ nothing to do with jello or hair or jello-hair or jello-haired specialists in Magix involving jello (she had a bit of a one-track mind). "Hey, do you want to get some fried chicken?"

Flora laughed. "Well, as they say: no shirt, no shoes, no service. It doesn't say a word about pants."

Musa glanced down at her bright red underwear and grinned. "So was that a yes?"

•○

They'd put her on ice again.

_They_ had put _her_ on _ice_ again.

They'd put her on ice, _again_.

She wasn't happy about it.

Darcy's fingers twitched under the extreme temperatures. The fools! They thought they could control her by immersing her with the very substance that she'd grown up around? They'd stuck her in a box surrounded by the very power which the woman she had once admired most had complete dominion over.

You don't spend eight years with a person and not learn a thing or two about their trade.

It may not have been her natural gift, but she was a kleptomaniac for power. Any kind of power, be it sunshine and daisies or ice and fire and the power to destroy one's mind from the inside out with a single note. The power to manipulate the atmosphere, the power to manipulate minds, the power to manipulate emotions, to manipulate her _boyfriend_—they were rightfully hers. All of it! She should have the powers, not _them_. Never _her_, the boneless _bitch_ who stole him from her. _He_ should have been hers. It was his fault she was here; it was his fault she was here with the _brat_ that the idiotic scientist called their son. She had no ties to either of them.

Her nails scraped against the frozen liquid, magically enchanted to restrain magic from escaping.

They didn't count on the fact that she wouldn't be the one _using_ the magic.

No, she may be a power kleptomaniac, but she could share.

•○

It was finally Friday night and Flora was positively glowing.

She and Musa walked arm in arm down the streets of Magix, the lights illuminating wonderful colours that reflected against Musa's translucent skin. Musa would flinch every now and then (she wasn't used to wearing shoes that were the right size, much less ones that had _heels_) since they'd stepped out of the transporter, but nothing could derail Flora. She was going to see all her friends (she didn't let the exception of Bloom murk up her joy) that night and not only that but it also meant she was going to be getting _married_ in two weeks!

Without any warning or reason she could immediately think of, Flora started giggling euphorically. Musa was nearly drunk off the emotions she was sending out, and she was sure it wasn't helping much that Flora was hanging onto her arm as if she'd fly off into the night.

"Come on, Musa," Flora chimed. "They should be here by now! We're late!" she was pulling Musa behind her and the shorter fairy had to run to keep up.

She was going to have blisters by the time this was over. "Flo, slow down. You _can't_ be late—it's _your_ party."

Flora slowed down, gracefully spinning to a stop. She put her hands on Musa's shoulders and smiled. "I'm so excited, Musa. I'm getting _married_!"

That much she knew. "Yes, you are." Musa put an arm around her waist and they started walking towards the club. Musa literally had to hold her back from running up to nearly _everyone_ to spread the good news. "Are you completely high? Drunk? Where does your mom hide the booze—because with the way you're acting, there's no way she could have been telling me the truth about not having any."

They walked up to the bouncer and Musa smiled.

Flora hugged the large man and announced, "I'm getting married!" Before the man could utter his congratulations, she turned back to her blue-haired friend. "To you your cousin. I'm marrying your cousin! Mmm." She smiled deliriously. "I'm in love."

Musa paid the fee and they went inside.

She spotted Stella from across the club and started to lead Flora that way. "I hope you're in love. You're marrying him."

Flora pulled to a dead stop and looked at Musa with the most somber of expressions. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Why would I be? Besides the fact that you're acting like a schizophrenic nut job right now."

"Because I'm taking him away from you. He's your family." Flora's head hung down, her short hair that wasn't held back by the bright pink flower falling in front of her face. "I don't want you to resent me, Musa."

Musa rolled her eyes. "That could never happen, Flo." She lightly pushed her shoulders. "Besides, hun, if I didn't like you two being together, you _wouldn't_ be." It was almost ominous, the amount of levity that Musa managed to settle into those three words. Musa laughed and grabbed Flora's wrist. "Now come on, you're late."

"I thought you said that the bride can never be late for her own party."

"Oh, I did. Of course, right now you're not acting like the bride so much as a school girl with a crush that got a hold of a bong full of pure djinn nectar." And she'd seen her like that several times when they were in school, though Flora did tend to lean away from it more than herself or Stella. It was harmless fun and entirely legal as long as you didn't smuggle it from an unwilling djinn clan—because only then it was dangerous (Djinn as a lot didn't like to be stolen from; anyone who tried it ended up with a cursed batch and genie pox for three months).

Flora shrugged and couldn't hold back her smile. "I'm just happy."

Stella jumped up from her seat and ambushed the pair. "With good reason, too!" Stella hugged her tightly and jumped up and down, her spirit so much more than it had been the last time Musa had seen her. She pulled Musa into the hug and laughed. "Our girl's getting married!"

The three plopped down in the both next to Layla and Techna and they all said their hellos, as informally as they could after more than three years of separation.

Stella picked up her glass of bright orange liquid (complete with some sort of exotic fruit imported from Eden, a sister planet of Marigold) and threw the whole thing back. She shook her head, put the glass on the table, and then chirped to the rest of them, "Of course, I always thought it'd be you, Musey, or Bloom first. But our little sweetie's getting married!" Flora laughed softly, but she looked almost hurt. "No, dawling, not like that." Stella patted Flora on the back. "I always knew you'd get married; I just figured that Bloom would jump the gun first. She kind of has a knack for rushing into things."

The blonde frowned down at the cup and then threw an arm into the air. "Waiter, get me another one of these, please!"

Layla laid her head atop her fist on the table. "You sure you should be drinking, Stella? Didn't you just have a baby?"

Stella waved her off even though she couldn't see it. "They only say that about while you're _pregnant_. It's perfectly fine now that it's out of me." One of the club personnel set another glass in front of her and she beamed with all the power of Solaria up at him. "Thanks, doll." Stella said, mostly to Musa, "It's still my ambition in life to never give birth, though."

Musa scoffed. "That ambitions' been squashed. Twice."

"Trust me, Musa, one day I will never give birth. You just can't break away from destiny like that."

Techna shook her head and laughed. "You'll never change, will you, Stella?"

"My boys know I love them. It's just that I'm not inclined to gush about it when I'm out with my girls. And lemme tell you, it's a good thing I love them cos this baby weight is _impossible_ to work off." She glanced at Musa over her cup and rolled her eyes. "Except for you Musey. I mean, geez, what did you do, swallow a ton of enchanted anorexia pills?"

Musa gawped. "I'm not _anorexic_, Stella!"

Stella poked at Musa's bare leg. "You're too skinny. You need pizza." She turned out to the crowd and shouted, "Can we get my girl some pizza over here?"

Layla shook her head pitifully. "They don't have pizza here."

Again, the Solarian princess waved her off. "Technicalities." She grabbed Flora's hands and pulled her into another hug. "Enough about me, we're here for our girl Flora."

Flora smiled and shook her head. "Believe me, I don't mind. I just want it to be like it was in school." She looked around at all her friends. "This is perfect."

"Well, it would be if Bloom wasn't off chasing her parent's ghosts like a madman."

Layla was the first to speak. "Real subtle, Stella."

"Dawling, there's no room for subtle in my home." She drank half her drink and then coughed a little. To cover it up, she choked out, "So are we going to gossip about boys or what?"

"How about 'or what'," Musa muttered. Layla nodded in agreement. Techna, however, was staring down into her own glass and Stella chose then to strike.

"So since I'm married and Flora's going to be, that only leaves you three." She reached out with her pink heels and kicked Techna's knee. "What about you, Techy? Am I hearing any wedding bells in yours and Timmy's non-virtual future? Because Musa's ignoring hers."

Musa would have yelled. She would have made a scene right there—a _'you've already tried getting involved with my personal issues once and just__** look**__ how that turned out so don't even try'—_scene. She would have…if it weren't for the miserable twinge that Techna was hiding so well. She'd never had her empathy acting up as much as it was now, and even she was quite disconcerted by it.

Techna was as composed and cool as ever. She sipped at her drink—straight up Earth vodka on the rocks—and reveled in the bitter taste. But she smiled cordially and met Stella's teasing gaze. "Everything's going great with Timmy. But I wouldn't hold your breath waiting to design a dress for me; I'm not really the marrying type."

Techna saw Musa's eyes narrow at the lie.

"What about Layla?" Techna pushed, drawing the attention away from herself and to the blind water fairy. "I could have sworn I saw Nabu just the other day while I was doing business here in Magix. He seemed to be wandering into a jewelry store…" She hadn't seen him. She hadn't been in Magix for months.

A sad turn of events had left Techna the best liar of all of the Winx girls and a sad turn of events would ensure she kept it that way. Because even if everything else fell through, she had that to fall back on. Even if everything fell apart in front of her, she'd have that and it would make everyone think it hadn't.

Stella turned her gossip hungry hazel eyes onto the girl and Layla squirmed under her stare, even though she couldn't see it; she could feel it. Layla's face scrunched. "Don't even go there, Stella. He was buying earrings for his _mother's_ birthday."

"Lucky guess," Musa muttered, her gaze fixed on Techna.

Stella squealed and shouted, "Listen!"

All the girls fell silent in the roar of the club and then, louder and louder as the personal amplification spells took effect, a very familiar song came on and Musa's face burned.

"That's my girl!" Stella cried as she latched onto Musa, her head resting against her bony shoulder. "We've got ourselves a superstar!"

Flora leant back against the comfortable seats and grinned. So it wasn't _exactly_ like high school. She almost felt it was better—they'd all grown up, they'd all grown their own lives, and they'd all still remained best friends through it all. Not only that, but she was _getting married_!

No, it wasn't the strobe lights. Flora was still glowing.

* * *

**So, there's chapter 6. I apologize for the characters if they were a little out of character; i'm going to stick with it and shove the creative rights paper in anyone's face. Or whatever. **

**Hope you liked it and if you did, leave me reviews. If you didn't, hell, leave some too. That way i'll know what i'm doing wrong.**

**xxEcho**


	7. Chapter 7

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: M/R eventually.**

**This chapter is shorter than usual and is entirely made up of two different characters' dream sequences. **

**Sorry for the delay, school and all that. I hope to have a few more chapters up soon.**

**Enjoy :)**

**Chapter 7.**

'_I can't try this hard. I just can't do this; not with you going off to do whatever while I'm still at Alfea for another year.'_

'_Because that's such a big deal for you,' he snapped back, his tongue feeling as if it were on fire._

'_You're missing the point Riven! I don't _want_ to do this anymore.' She lowered her arms and walked away from him. And she didn't even give him a second glance._

_Riven stared after her, his fingers digging painfully into the grass beneath him. His face was as schooled and expressionless as any other day, but his eyes told the whole story—because even though he wouldn't admit it, she'd just broken his heart._

_For the next few minutes, he was blank and he didn't move. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing. He was just _there_ and she wasn't._

_The tint of red that he'd recently managed to escape, the same tint that had haunted him his whole life, surged back into sight painfully throbbing against his eyes and the change left him blinded._

_Anyone who passed him then thought better than to talk to him and by the time Riven had reached his room, everything, even the walls of the sterile-seeming bath corridors looked bloody and dark._

_In a haze and a pulsing pain that rung through his ears, the red began to seep away. It seeped into every crash, every cracking nose that rung through the room, and by the time he could really _see_ again, the room was completely in shambles._

_Riven stood in the midst of the wreckage, staring around him at the splinters of wood and shards of glass and the gaping hole that currently was all that set the wall apart from any other. He hadn't made a sound since she'd walked out on him and that was fine with him._

_This always happened. Whenever he let someone in, this happened._

_His brows furrowed angrily, the fight finally leaving his eyes._

_He hadn't ever told her that he loved her._

_And now he almost wished he didn't at all._

_He felt his knees hit the ground and his fists turn white with tension but he didn't realize that he'd fallen. 'Musa…'_

He woke up violently and his naked chest burned where he'd been slapped. Nuri leant over him, her legs crossed under her and the sheet had fallen to her waist, leaving her completely revealed in the darkness of the room and she ignored the cold as best as she could. She tapped one long-nailed finger against her folded arm in agitation. A cold, calculating eyebrow rose pointedly and she looked down at the red-haired man in what looked like a search for an explanation. "Well?"

"Well what?" Letting out a yawn, he scooted backward until he was halfway sitting—because when Nuri was mad, it was better to be alert.

Her dark red painted lips puckered and her teeth audibly ground together. "You _know_ what, Riven. You've been dreaming about her for the past week and you expect me to believe that there's _nothing_ between you two? What kind of an idiot do you take me for?"

Riven slid his hands behind his head leisurely. "I never said there was nothing between us, Nuri. Don't go putting words in my mouth."

The woman's dark brown eyes narrowed on him to nearly slits that he couldn't even see in the darkness. "_Is_ there something between you two?" She didn't handle jealousy well and it was bubbling up inside of her like a volcano about to erupt. Riven could see it and he thought it was completely hypocritical.

"You already know the answer, so I'm not going to flatter you with a reply."

The blonde drew back and her lip twitched in disgust. "Tell her it's over," she demanded briskly.

A mirthless chuckle left his lips and he sunk back into the bed with it as his eyes drifted closed again. A sardonic grin graced his lips as he said, "Been there, done that. It never lasts long."

"I don't need this," she announced loudly, angrily, in the darkness as she glared at his face. Riven lazily squinted at her through one violet eye and shrugged indifferently.

"If you've got a problem with it you can leave." His breathing had already begun to return to the steady pattern of sleep.

Nuri sat there, her tan-blonde hair strewn over her shoulders and tangled awkwardly. Her dainty nose flared and she reached onto the floor, drawing up one of her tank tops. "I think I will."

"Good." At least he'd be able to get some sleep before work that morning.

She froze, trying to think of what would hurt him the most. And with him being gone more often than not, there were many that came to mind. "Yours isn't the only bed I can keep warm."

Riven's scoff came from deep in his throat. "Any other breaking news you'd like to share? Because so far there's nothing you've told me that I didn't already know."

Nuri let out an appalled shriek and she jumped from the bed, pulling on her too-tight jeans in a fury. She left the room into an equally dark hallway and didn't bother to shut the front door behind her.

•○

_This one was new. Normally, when he dreamt, he did so of voids, of darkness, of terror. Never a specific place, time, or subject. Normally he dreamt of _nothing_; he didn't dream._

_Which was exactly why he knew it was a dream. That, and because his late wife was standing before him with an expression of closed-off disgust of the deepest kind—the kind that choked generals in the midst of a war, the type that left them speechless at their greatest victory._

_Looking up at him, her pale oriental face was more beautiful than he'd ever thought it before, her deep onyx eyes shining in the light of the home they once shared. He remembered that day, he remembered the fire her eyes had held—a lioness protecting her cub. Even if the cub was worthless._

_He knew how this scene would play out. It was happening before him as he stood there, watching the small, young woman berate a younger (much, much younger) version of himself in a very uncharacteristic manner. She waved her hand at the window, where he knew the bird was sitting in the dirt digging a shallow grave for his namesake. Tears glistened in her eyes and the younger version of himself went red with anger—because, even now after so many years, he couldn't believe she'd had the_ audacity_ to think she was allowed to yell at _him_. He watched himself tell her just that and then he watched his younger self walk away calmly with only a tenseness in his shoulders to prove any differently—because no woman was worth his anger._

_The slight woman pulled her arms in tightly around herself and looked out the window on the sparrow and his dead pet. She did not shake her head as he'd always thought she would have (because she was too weak to be able to hide her emotions as she was now). She simply stared out the window and let out a small sigh._

'_This is your fault,' she hissed out melodically. The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed—because as many times as he'd seen this in his mind, it had never progressed to a real _conversation_. Helux took a step forward just as the woman turned and she glared at him. 'It's your fault he spent so long being so unhappy.'_

_Helux's dark brows furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back as he came to stand beside the much shorter woman. 'I rather thought it was because of your failure to be a mother towards him. Seeing as how you abandoned him at the first chance you got.'_

'_I __**died**__, you bastard! I never abandoned him.'_

'_A true shame,' the Doctor drawled. 'If you had, perhaps he would have turned out better. Some of the best fighters in the realms only became so because of their mother's betrayal and overall mistrust in women.'_

'_If you want to talk about who failed him, we could start with you.'_

'_I tried to make him stronger and he couldn't handle it. The boy was weak and is no son of mine,' he looked out on the tears that fell onto the soft earth and grimaced. 'That much will never change. He deserved every lesson I taught him.'_

_His wife shook her head and her soft, dark tresses fanned over her shoulders. 'The only thing he deserved was to be loved, Helux. He deserved a real father but instead he got you—a _monster_.'_

_Helux raised a hand to her but an invisible force stopped him from making any contact. He drew his hand away, holding it before his face skeptically. The apparition of his dead wife didn't even wince like she had twenty years before when she was alive._

'_You can't hurt me here,' she told him. 'Neither can you hurt him.' she stood up on her toes, reaching his shoulder when she did so, and she stared him down through his glasses. 'Even better, you can't hurt him at all, Helux. He has moved past your betrayal even in your own world.'_

_He pushed his glasses up onto his nose and Helux crossed his arms as he appraised the room. 'This is the hell you came to,' he drawled offhandedly._

_Serenely, his wife smiled and shook her face. 'Where you see hell, all I see is my son. I can't be in hell because you are not with me, but he is.'_

_It was hysterical to him. 'You're as pathetically in love with my as you always were, my dear. The very fact that I was here in what you consider to be your perfect afterlife proves such.'_

'_I hold no delusions that you have the capacity to love, Helux. I'm not naïve like I was then. I thought then that because you _loved_ my sister that you could love me and I wanted you to love me _more_.' She twisted the glistening silver ring on her finger and chuckled darkly. 'You never loved her, though. You only wanted her because she was the _beautiful_ one and she was the _powerful_ one. You can't love.'_

'_Are you trying to hurt my feelings, my dear? If you are, I'll regretfully have to inform you that it won't work.'_

'_I'm doing nothing of the sort.' The woman, twenty-two years old in appearance (three years older than she'd actually been when the event with the sparrow transpired) closed her eyes and turned away from the man, her forehead pressed against the cool pane of the window in her memory. 'The only reason we're here is because you feel connected to it. You feel guilty.'_

_He scoffed. 'Guilt is for the weak.'_

'_And I've yet to meet a man weaker than you, Helux Esposito.'_

_No one called him weak, least of all his dead wife—dead because of her _own_ weakness. The doctor's fists clenched and his back straightened imposingly. 'I am not weak, you worthless whore.'_

_His wife turned and smiled at him like she had when she was fourteen and they were newly married. She was smiling like she did before she knew he had no soul that she could reach. It worried him, though he would never admit it to her face._

'_There's nothing you can say now that I haven't heard a thousand times before, my husband. Did you know that insult is a sign of injury and that injury is a sign of weakness, at least in your masochistic sense of thinking?'_

'_Stop calling me weak.'_

_It was the chink in his armour. His dead wife shook her head. 'Helux, I'm not here to fight with you. I _died_ to stop being with you at all; I wouldn't visit you just to fight.'_

'_Then why am I trapped here with you?'_

'_Because of our son.'_

_Helux growled. He hated hearing those words come out of her mouth—how dare she accuse him of such a thing? Being a father to that _bird_? 'He is no son of mine. If you wish to speak of weak men, the sparrow is a prime subject.'_

'_Is that what you're calling your son now, Helux? _The Sparrow_?'_

'_He is no son of mine.'_

_She gave him a long, appraising look and sighed gloomily. 'I do so pity you.' She swept her long skirt from the ground and daintily stepped over towards the lounge chair in the middle of the spacious room just as it began to rain outdoors. 'Listen to me well—for here, you don't have the power to go against me.' And he tried to speak out, but she was right. Her deep, dark blue eyes glared up at the very tall Lieutenant. '_Our_ son is a stronger, better, man than you could ever even __**dream**__ to be and because he is so strong, he is nothing like you. He is in love and he is not afraid of his own heart, which is something you will never be able to claim._

'_You will always be a slave to the thoughts swirling around in your head; thoughts of seeking power and archaic military thinking that prevents you from letting yourself feel. That is why you will never be the man that he is, my darling. He is finally in control of his own life without your shadow poking under doorways, taunting the innocent child within his soul. He is free of you just as you wish and he is _happy_ without you in his life.'_

_His wife swept her dark iridescent hair over her shoulders until it fell in a single soft curl down her back. She turned her head to the door and a small, long, dark-haired boy sulked through the door. The boy came and sat against his mother on the lounge chair and curled up against her chest, seeking comfort in his mother's heartbeat. Helux's dead wife stroked their son's hair—the _bird_'s hair—and looked up at him with anger in her face._

'_This is your only warning—do not interfere.'_

_The comforting room melted away into nothing, his dead wife and the bird and the room slowly dissolving into the darkness that he fell into each and every night. One final thought crossed his mind—she had __**challenged**__ him._

A single monotone ring sounded across the deck of the shuttle and Helux's eyes opened slowly, staring into the darkness of his quarters. A thin, slow smile spread across his lips.

It was high time he paid a visit to the bird-child.

* * *

**As i said, this one's quite a bit shorter than usual. Filler, if you will. I was actually pretty excited to write this, as it gives a bit of insight to both Riven (mostly involving the terrible little breakup in the last chapter of Storm) and the mysterious Lieutenant Helux Esposito. If anyone can guess his dirty little secret, i'll give them a cookie ;) And i've been dropping hints this whole time. If no one guesses, then you'll just have to find out the old fashioned way in a few chapters xD mwahahahaha**

**Thanks for reading! Reviews deeply appreciated (as i DO so love feedback, critical or not).**

**xxEcho.**


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the extended wait. Been busy. Had no inspiration. Will try to update more regularly. At this point, events begin to meld a little with my other story, _Actress_.

* * *

**Chapter 8.**

Riven chuckled low to himself as Musa clung to his waist for her very life, her body shaking and her face pressed into his shoulder blade. Her warm breath was steady but shallow against his shirt and he knew without a doubt that her eyes were trying to close more than was possible without sewing them together.

"Calm down, Musa," Riven muttered casually when her arms tightened. "We're not even that far up." She couldn't see it, but a mocking grin painted his face and if he could have, he would have been laughing whole-heartedly at her reaction.

Musa, however, could _feel_ the humor oozing off of him. "Don't make fun of me, you jerk. It's fricken high!"

"You've been higher up. You're a fairy, remember?" Which brought up the rather bizarre question of why she didn't just fly them up—besides the fact that she was completely and utterly terrified to move.

"We're four-thousand freaking miles in the air over a planet made completely of water, Riven! This is way farther up than _any_ fairy's ever _flown_!"

"Admit it, you're just scared."

"Do you _see_ any ground to land on when you get us thrown off this thing?" She hit her knee bitterly against the leva bike that the pair were sitting on and groaned as the sudden rising and falling feeling hit her in the gut. "Stop it, please."

"If you want to fall for hours, then I'll gladly stop now. Otherwise, we're going to keep going."

Musa made a small squeaking sound in the back of her throat and closed her eyes again, her arms tightening to almost painful proportions (for both of them) around Riven's middle. "Fine," Musa grumbled. "But drive faster."

He rolled his eyes. "First you tell me I'm driving too fast—"

"You _were_!"

"—and now I'm driving too slow? Make up your mind."

Musa's groan was drawn out and her stomach pressed against his back. "I'm going to be sick. I'm going to die and then I'm going to be sick and then I'm going to drown because you're going to crash us into one of the invisible mountains and I'll fall and then I'll get a concussion."

"I don't think you can get a concussion after you're dead," Riven quipped. Musa huffed. "Hey," he said after her fist lightly clipped his leg, "no hitting the driver. Unless you really _do_ want to crash."

The princess made a high, nervous humming noise and crushed her face into his back, forcing herself to not be _able_ to look at just how high up they were. With a roll of his eyes—he'd figured her out _long_ before and now he was just waiting for her to own up to her ironic fear—he slowed the bike up a bit as they entered into a particularly thick patch of clouds.

"You've got to be kidding me," Musa whined.

The clouds parted in what seemed like no time at all and the coverage that had before concealed the sight was behind them. Now, above them floated the mountains of Tapinak, untouched by what the locals considered to be 'disastrous technologies' of the rest of the realms. Unlike their mother planet, the ability to establish a technological system did exist, but the locals had fought and debated relentlessly for their home to stay the same. So, as it was, the moon was a sanctuary and a nature preserve and the natives were very protective of their home.

Riven slowly lowered the leva bike onto one of the lowest surfaces, a tethered landing with a nearly flat surface, and cut the engine. Musa held fast to his waist, but he felt her jerk when he lowered his arms.

"Why did we stop?" Her question was muffled against his back.

"We have to climb from here." Riven moved to pull her hands from his waist but she had retracted them at the last minute and was off the bike almost as quickly as he could blink. She pulled at her shorts (an action Riven thought was ridiculous because it wasn't like they covered anything anyway) and scuffled her feet, clad in periwinkle high heeled boots. Riven stared at those shoes (the colour, Musa realized, matched his eyes almost to a fault) and he pulled his expression to a frown. "You're wearing heels to climb up the Tapinak Mountains?"

The blue-haired fairy narrowed her eyes at him and bristled. "What's it to you? If I want to wear heels, I can."

"You're going to fall." He forced a hysterical chuckle out as he looked over the rest of her attire—at least, that's what he was going to call it if she called him out on it—and deemed it…acceptable. Distracting was closer to the truth, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Besides, since when do you wear heels at all?"

"I wear heels." Musa crossed her arms. "Stella didn't tell me we'd be _hiking_ anywhere. She just told me we had to get a _special_ flower from a mountain spring on a '_planet that I can't remember the name of_'." Musa's impersonation of Stella's high-pitched comment was flawless, delivered exactly as it had been by Stella herself several hours before.

"Yeah, because if you want valid information you should automatically go to _Stella_."

She rolled her eyes at him. Musa took two rubber bands from her wrist and pulled her hair back into low pigtails like she had through most of her school years (and when she was working). She pulled off the bright red glove and stuffed it in her back pocket and then walked over to the edge of the floating boulder, staring down with wide eyes.

Musa jumped back and when Riven could see her face, it was slightly green. "I'm going to kill Stella."

•○

"Why don't you sing anymore?"

Musa didn't like this. They were climbing the vertical face of a _floating_ mountain thousands of miles above an aquatic planet without any rope. She was terrified nearly out of her senses and here he was carrying on a _conversation_ with her. He was carrying her shoes, the bag of emergency supplies, and whatever else he'd brought along 'just in case' and he wasn't even breaking a sweat or faltering a little bit. She, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified, dripping with fear, straining to keep herself up, and on the verge of shrieking in panic. She had cuts all up her legs and even a few on her arms. She just wasn't built to scale a flying cliff.

"You had a tour a few years back, after you finished school, right?"

Musa huffed and her hands groped for the next available grip. She was shaking. "Stop talking, please."

"Why? What happened? You have a great voice, Musa, almost as good as mine." He expected a scoff—something—but she didn't even roll her eyes. They remained glued to the rock ahead of her. "You should still be singing." He was just _way_ too good at this climbing thing—it wasn't even fair. He was almost to the next ledge, and she was almost eye-level with his shoe.

"Riven, please stop."

"I'm talking to try to distract you from the height, Musa. So just go with it." He took another step and looked down at her, waiting for her to catch up. And it seemed he'd wait a while. "Just talk to me, honey. Why'd you cancel your tour?"

Musa's hands shook. "Please stop. I can't concentrate when you're talking." She breathed in and out quickly as she worked her way up the rock until her face was even with his. "I can't do this. I'm terrified."

"Hey," Riven reached over and brushed a large hand against her cold cheek. "Just breathe. We're almost there, and I've got you. I think there's some stairs after we pass this next ledge." She nodded softly and her wide, wired eyes glared at the rock directly above her. "Move with me, you can do it."

"Okay." Musa winced as her small foot scraped against a jagged edge. She felt like she was in labour all over again and rushed out her breathing. "How did you find out about the tour anyway? Some chick you were banging? Or was it more than one?"

As true as the statement was, Riven couldn't dig up the guts to tell her that he'd also gone to one of her concerts. And he'd waited backstage for her until the second her bright blue hair had appeared around the corner. He'd fled. He'd run away from the face of the woman engrained in his heart to the newest woman willing to jump into a place in his bed (Nuri's roommate, actually).

"Yeah. She thought your music sucked."

They'd broken up over it. Well and there was the fact that he'd started sleeping with Nuri. Nuri didn't mind occasionally screwing to Musa's music—he suddenly wondered if that had been why they'd lasted so long (often, rather). He wondered if that made him a bad person.

Musa rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. So let me guess: you asked me how it went to hear a first-person testimonial about how much it sucked? You want to hear how horribly I did? How I couldn't handle it? How at my last concert I literally ran off stage and vomited in an alley because I made myself sick?"

"Actually, I asked because you love music. I thought the tour would have made you happy."

"Well it didn't," Musa snapped. "So just drop it."

Riven snorted. "Why is it that you think you're allowed to talk about things that make me mad, but I'm not allowed to ask you a few questions? You can dish it but can't take it?"

"Why can't you just drop it and climb the damn mountain?" Musa growled out. She reached up, grabbing for the rock Riven's hand had just over passed, and less than a second after she gripped it, it crumbled under her hand and several small stones fell and clunked against her face.

Musa shrieked and her other hand slipped from the rock face as well. A flury of noises assaulted the silent air at once—Riven's profane shout, gasping, a sob, another shout, the static of his saber being drawn, slicing through the rock, rocks crumbling and colliding against each other. When her head stopped rushing enough to realize that she _wasn't _falling, she finally opened her eyes; her dark blue orbs streaming with tears.

Everything was still.

"I'm going to die," Musa sobbed. "I shouldn't have worn stupid heels! I don't want to die by falling to my death in heels."

Of course, she wasn't even wearing them, but Riven didn't think that it was the right time or place to remind her of that.

"I've got you." Riven barely had hold of her. "You're not going to die, honey. God, you're skinny."

"Why are you holding me by my shorts?"

He grunted. "You're not wearing much to grab onto. Wrap your legs around my waist and I'll get us up to the ledge."

"I'm not going to—"

"Just do it, Muse!"

Reluctantly, Musa swung her leg around him, pressing her hips intimately against him. She saw the long drop the two of them had below and the straining violet blade keeping them up and she gasped loudly. Her eyes blurred again with tears and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, her arms pulling herself tighter against his body, so tightly her own muscles ached.

"Please don't fall," she whispered breathlessly into the skin on his neck.

She heard the blade retract and felt his weight shift as his arm moved, then shift the other way until she was sure they were climbing again. She counted in her head and after what felt like a million years—though in reality it was only about thirty seconds—she hit the grassy ledge back first.

Her head hit the ground with a thud—a breathy "ow"—and she moved her hand to soothe it. Riven's body weighed down on her, her legs still tightly wound around his narrow waist, and his elbows propped him up, caging her face in on either side.

"Are you okay?"

Musa nodded gently. "You just caused me some minor brain damage. Nothing big."

Riven's hand gently smoothed her hair down where she'd hit her head. "There's no blood, and no bump. Does it still hurt?" Their noses were nearly touching, and she could feel his hot breath against her lips.

He moved in closer, eyes zeroed in on the lower half of her face.

"Don't kiss me," Musa mumbled softly just as their lips touched. "You can't just kiss me when I'm trying my best to fight with you." Her legs released their hold on him, falling limply to the ground as he still lay on the ground between them. Musa closed her eyes, her eyebrow reproaching.

Riven's violet eyes looked over her face and then he rolled off of her. "You're really terrible at fighting with me, you know? You've lost your touch. You used to be able to deal out much more convincing blows."

"This isn't fighting yet, Riven." And the worst part for her was that the usual spark that she fanned into an uproar wasn't there. She sighed and turned her head towards his. "We need to make a truce."

She felt that if she thought they needed one, she'd be able to fight with him again.

"A truce?" He blew some of his hair from his face and stared at her questioningly.

The fairy nodded. "A truce to not fight until the wedding's over. Flora tried to hide it, but she was crying about it yesterday. We're apparently more terrifying to our friends than to each other." Riven rolled his eyes. "I'm serious. Truce; civil if not friendly terms until the wedding's over. After that we can argue and fight until the walls burn down around us. Deal?"

She held out her dainty hand and Riven grasped it in his. "Deal."

The pair ambled to their feet and brushed the dirt off their clothes. Musa took the bag from him and slung it over her shoulder.

"You said there were stairs, didn't you?" She asked. He pointed towards precarious looking levitating boulders, each ascending to a higher level than the last. "Oh. What the hell Riven? Those are in no way stairs! We'd be better climbing up a rope than risking—"

Riven pressed a warm finger to her lips. "Shut up. You 're the one who wanted a truce; don't go getting double standards on me now." He jumped onto the first rock, turned, and motioned her over, holding a hand out to help her up. "Come on, princess, before your falling earns you an encore."

•○

"One of you has betrayed me." Helux paced up and down the line of his assembled crew, each man's posture erect as they stood in the dimly lit cafeteria. The doctor's hands were folded calmly behind his back and he held himself arrogantly while he walked back and forth, analyzing each of the men's faces. "One of you—a member in my own crew—has tried to kill me."

His shoes tapped against the cold metal floor—_tap, tap, tap, tap_. Slowly and steadily.

"I do not know which of you it was, but one of you attempted to poison me. If it were not for my immensely in tune senses, I may not have woken up when I did and you would have succeeded."

He stopped in front of a young, blue eyed boy from the Hurvitian galaxy and stared him dead in the eye. The young boy made a great show of not looking as intimidated as he obviously was, even when Helux's hard black eyes narrowed furiously.

"Unfortunately for the one of you who attempted to assassinate me, you did not succeed." He pulled the boy up by his uncustomary rumpled collar—a sure sign that the crew had been awoken urgently during the early hours of their ships' running schedule instead of sleeping—and pulled him close to his face. "When I find out who did this, I assure you all that there will be hell to pay."

He shoved the boy away and went back down the line. The boy fell back into his place, his brow perspiring.

"When I find out who did this, that person will suffer the same fate they wished upon me. However, I will not be so foolish as to let him survive."

Helux opened the heavy, mechanical doors and swept from the room. "You are all dismissed. For now."

The men watched him leave and looked at each other, gauging the expressions of the men on either side of them and the more suspicious ones further down the line. Though they'd been given permission to leave, none could find it in them to be the first.

The last in the room was a tall fellow, gangly and cross-eyed. He watched his fellow crew members go and was shocked that anyone would be able to do such a thing to their lieutenant. Though the man was cruel, he thought that they'd all agreed that his leadership was the one thing they would all respect.

The door compressed closed again and the gangly man stood alone in the darkness.

His eyes began to glow a bright orchid and his mouth fell open, in a trance.

"Poor Daddy didn't like my treat," his distorted voice mumbled slowly as though he was drunk. The man slowly walked to the black window, lit only by the far away stars that glowed so faintly where they were. The man lifted his nimble hand up to his neck, adams apple prominent, and he gripped the skin tightly. "You should have done the job right. Now you're no longer any use to me."

Within moments, the man was slumped against the cold glass, his crossed green eyes empty and glowing with a faint orchid.

On the exact other side of the ship, the dark witch slept in her ice coffin. Her mouth curved and she sighed instinctively in her slumber.

"_What a pity, too. Now I have to find a new puppy dog_."

•○

"I stopped singing because I was tired of being a disappointment."

Riven stopped just before her. He helped her to the next ledge, his brows furrowed with guilt. "I wasn't serious when I said I was better—you know I'm not. And Vivian was tone deaf, so her hating your music doesn't even count."

"No; not from my audience." Musa sighed and allowed him to help lift her up, their next rock being far above her head. She braced herself and leant over, offering him what little help she could. "From my dad."

"Your dad?" Riven had only met the man twice, and both times—though they began with Musa's being in trouble—by the end of the day, HoBoe was absolutely enthralled by Musa's drive towards music. "I thought your dad loved that you were performing."

"Before he did. But Dad and I had a falling out my senior year. I messed up real bad and he didn't think I should have been allowed to pretend it never happened, like I was—and I'm pretty good at pretending." They both knew firsthand how talented she was at _make believe_. "He told me just that when I told him I wanted to go on tour. We said a lot of things and neither of us ever looked back from a single one." She sighed. "After I graduated, I wanted to sing; wanted to travel and just have fun. He didn't think I was mature enough or responsible enough to do it without getting into the same kind of trouble and banned me from going. He even went so far as to employ the royal guards to stand post around my room. But I packed my clothes into my guitar case and ran away. Pretty melodramatic on my part, I know.

"While I was gone, I guess I became more reckless than I'd like to admit. A lot of things happened on tour; things changed, Dad told me what he thought, and I came to terms with reality. And after that, I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep going up on stage with all those unforgiving lights on me when I knew that he was down there, watching, thinking what he did of me. So I decided to go off on my own and _prove_ to him that I wasn't as immature or stupid as he played me off to be."

She'd gone to Sperare. It promised so much, yet came through on so little. And Musa knew that it was partially her fault for not trying harder or reaching out, but there was also the fact that the planet was in a realm that had been cursed since nearly the time it had been inhabited. Musa laughed bitterly. "That apparently didn't work out so well, because here I am. And I just don't have it in me to sing."

They were on the highest mountain above Tapinak. Even the clouds were below them. Riven put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Everyone makes mistakes, Muse. It doesn't make you stupid or—"

Musa's eyes balked and she pushed his hand off her shoulder. "Riven, look." She stepped around him, headed towards something behind him.

Riven's hand fell to his side and he turned in disbelief. "I was trying to be supportive."

"I don't care," she quipped. "I don't need your reassurance to make me feel good about myself. I got over my codependency." He caught up to her and she pointed to an area right in the middle of the platform. "What the hell is that?"

He looked to where she pointed. Riven rolled his eyes. "I retract my statement about you not being stupid. That's a flower, Princess. And I'm going to guess it's the reason we're up here."

Musa punched his arm. "Jerk. I know it's a freaking flower, Riven. I meant the thing on the stem." She gently picked up the glassy rose and held it out for his view.

Riven shrugged. "It's a price tag."

The musical fairy looked at him pointedly. "Yes." She turned it over in her hand, reading the delicate writing. "It's a price tag. Don't insult my intelligence by saying that there's a gift shop at the bottom of these flying rocks." She handed the tag to him and urged him to read it. "Especially not one whose tags specifically say '_native to Marigold_.'"

Riven was silent for a moment, staring at the flower just as Musa was.

Then, very calmly, he hissed, "I'm going to _kill_ Stella." Musa laughed.

•○

Riven's hand came down loudly on the table in front of Stella. The sun fairy jumped, her golden hair flailing around her and Flora backed her chair away from the table, eyes wide.

Riven's eyes were hard. "You're a cad, princess sun breath."

Stella's mouth fell open in disbelief. She leant back in her chair and crossed her arms. "A cad? Riven, do you even realize how many times you're wrong in that small accusation? I don't even have the right body parts to be a cad."

Musa came in the room, closing the door quietly behind her and she walked up behind Riven, staying out of Stella's line of sight.

Riven shrugged. "I know there are gaps in the logic, but I've been thinking about this the entire way back from the top of that damn gravel field. You're a cad. There's no other word that can even fit you."

Stella blinked far too innocently. "I don't know what you mean, Riven."

The red-haired hero lifted his palm from the table and the small white tag remained. "That," he said lethally. "You left the price tag on the flower."

Musa came forward and handed the delicate, iridescent full rose to Flora silently. Flora looked at the rose, at the tag, at Stella, and at the two who had just walked in. There was _no_ way they could look that worn and beat up from just a trip to the royal nursery on Marigold. The Marigoldi were far too peaceful to ever risk harming their national flower.

Stella looked at the glassy flower indigently and shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Musa snapped. "Next time you need a special flower from half way across the realms, don't send us to one that you _put_ there. I won't forgive you next time, Stell." Musa stormed out of the room, Riven close behind her.

When Stella was sure the two were far away, she grinned. "I think that went fairly well. Next time I guess I'll just have to come up with something to keep them together longer." Flora set the flower down gingerly and frowned outright at the blonde. Stella looked at her as if she were insane. "What?"

"You can't keep doing this, Stella. Stay out of their business."

"I refuse to," Stella insisted. She tidied up the papers they'd been working on that Riven had disrupted when he slammed the tag down and she put the tag into her shoe. "They need me to do this, Flora. They still love each other; they just don't realize it because they're too stubborn. And they're wasting their lives trying to hold back."

Flora shook her head. "It's their life. If they want to get back together, they will."

"They won't. They need me to push them." Stella thought back to their breakup those four years before and her eyes grew hard. She couldn't let them keep going on like this. "Besides," Stella muttered as she began to scrawl across the paper in front of her, "I need someone to impose my talents on when your wedding's over." She pouted down at her paper. "Damn I need a hobby."

* * *

**Crafty Stella. I'm sick, some of this doesn't make any sense to me. Sorry.**

**Hope you enjoyed. There's going to be a wedding soon!**

**Please leave comments, questions, opinions...etc.**

**xoxo Echo.**


	9. Chapter 9

For your wait, you get _two_ chapters today. It would be three, but I'm still working on chapter eleven.

* * *

**Chapter 9.**

"I asked you not to say it."

"But not fast enough." Musa set the chrome tray down on Techna's bedside table and chuckled. "Besides, you knew that wouldn't stop me." She sat down next to her slow-waking friend and took pride in the glare she earned from the motion, even through weary eyes and bed-mussed hair.

"It never has before," Techna mumbled as she reached for the steaming mug.

"I only do it because I care."

"No," the pink-haired fairy rolled her eyes. "You do it because it makes you happy to see other people being kindly tormented for once instead of yourself."

"That's incredibly dark and only one third accurate. It's your birthday. You can't expect us not to celebrate. Or torment you kindly." Musa could feel waves of emotion seeping off her friend, ranging from humble gratefulness to awkwardness to the feeling Musa had only ever before identified as feeling empty. She'd felt it enough herself over the last several years that she nearly swayed under the weight it had over her. Musa swallowed back the bile in her throat, pushing away all the memories of broken hearted nights, days of physical pain, her own heart linked to the feeling, and she placed both hands on either side of Techna's head and shook gently. "_Celebrate. _It's a good thing, so you should smile. Not look like the walls are falling in around you. Birthdays are special. They're fun." She tried to smile at her reassuringly.

Techna very reluctantly sipped at her tea, only after shaking her head and letting out a chortle, her pink brow quirked up. "I'm turning twenty-one. There's nothing special about this birthday except that I can legally vote now in the Third Vector—which doesn't even affect my life here, seeing as the Third Vector has no jurisdiction outside of themselves and their colonies."

Musa wracked her brain for a response and bounced up onto her knees excitedly, like she often did while they were still in school (Techna placed a hand over her tea in surprise to prevent the liquid from spilling everywhere). "You can legally drink on Earth now. That's something."

Eyes the colour of the sea rolled like a pair of dice. "We've been legally drinking _here_ since we were eighteen. What do you expect me to do, pop down to my gran's and ask her to join me for a pint?" At the thought of her tiny white-haired human grandmother getting trashed in a pub, Techna snorted unintentionally, an image of the scene playing in her mind.

The princess huffed and jumped off the bed. "Fine, crush all my ideas. I was just trying to cheer you up, but if you're so set on being a downer, I'll leave you to it."

The next words Techna said stopped Musa cold in her tracks. "We always celebrated Bloom's birthday with mine."

Musa sighed. Sky was staying with them, and since he'd shown up, that very thought had yet to vacate her mind for a moment, given the impending dates of both girls' birthdays. "I know. I tried to find her, Tech. I tried for months after my tour ended, and I tried after we went to the club, because it wasn't right without her. I was gone for two days, and I couldn't find her. Helia and Stella started to freak out, and she threatened to send Riven out to find me with a bounty on my head and tell Flora I was dead if I didn't come back. I couldn't find her. I couldn't even find her for Flora."

"You can't find someone who doesn't want to be found," Techna mused glumly down into her mug, her fingers rubbing at the rim.

Musa shook her head in agreement, her teeth clenched. "But you can try until it kills you."

The android gave her a dead-panned look and spoke very methodically, as though she'd had her words chosen for years before the conversation had taken place, "There's an entire assemblage of people standing in line to bring you back if you continue with these misguided suicidal…chivalrous missions you're intent on pursuing. And not many of them will be kind enough to kill you themselves after."

Musa held her gaze as Techna sipped at her tea, until the pink-haired fairy finally looked off toward the window. Musa took her leave, shutting the door behind her. After it was closed, she leaned against it slowly, as if she was suspended in water and couldn't move her limbs at her own chosen pace.

Just exiting the guest room across the hall, Sky locked eyes with her as she let out a long, weary breath. "Are you alright?" he asked. Her eyes were heavy, and her words were slow and quiet.

"I just want to fix everything for everyone. Is that too much to ask?"

He joined her in leaning against the door. "It's...a lot to ask when your own path is too cluttered to even stand." She couldn't meet his eyes any longer.

•○

Riven hated clubs. He hated them more than he had while he and the others were in school. He hated them more than he had when he was enrolled in the Eliterlin. It was probably partly due to Nuri and her grating addiction to going out every weekend and at least three nights of the week. It was probably partly because he'd first met Nuri in a club. Come to think of it, every one of his exes ruined clubs for him—which wasn't hard to do.

But the worst part of going to clubs…was Musa.

She was a celebrity, most especially in Magix. They revered her like the royalty she was, ignoring the crown, because she was an alumnus of one of their own universities. They overplayed every song she'd ever released. In fact, they may as well have an entire club devoted to _just her music_, because it seemed that some of them played it exclusively. He imagined if she wanted to, she could be on one of those '_Where Are They Now_' specials on channel 28.

_Well_, he thought_, she could be if they could remember her face._ There was something to say for her long absence from the limelight, because at least she wasn't being flocked by over-adoring fans.

Riven sat diagonally from Musa on a cluster of couches, his feet propped up on the table between them and arms crossed in disdain. She used to love going out to places like this, and that was why he was so surprised by her attitude.

Musa was sipping on her fruity drink—something purple and reflecting the flashing lights behind them—and he noted that her face wore the same expression as his: disgust. Disgust because her songs had been playing for the last twenty minutes, nearly the minute they'd all gone in, and she couldn't tune it out. The hype that instantaneously overtook the young inhabitants of _Fly_ was sickening to her because she hated that her music was only good for clubs, remixes, and casual reminiscing. For her, it was only good for an instantaneous bad mood.

None of the others agreed, which was how Riven found himself alone in hell with his little Muse, doing her best to ignore everything, right in front of his nose.

Finally he leaned in towards her, drawing her eyes away from the wall she'd been having a rather impressive stare-down with. "Have you thought about a comeback?" he asked, though it wasn't what he'd first meant to say.

Musa made sure to focus on his face and rolled her eyes. "That's ridiculous."

"It's really not. You see how they're all reacting to your voice—just your voice, Musa. A comeback would be only natural with all this excitement."

She threw the rest of her drink back and shook her head at him. "They're not reacting to my voice, Riven. They're reacting to the throbbing bass that they can barely hear through their grinding hips and groping hands. It's not music anymore. They've warped it into an aphrodisiac."

He leaned back, eyebrows high with genuine surprise. "Then why don't you change it?"

Her attention had been lost again. "Change what?"

"Change their reactions if you hate them so much. Change your music."

"I told you I don't sing anymore." She set her glass back down on the table and stood up. Riven did the same, not wanting to lose a chance at her answer or to have her take her leave.

"Fair enough." He knew better than to push the subject when she was already agitated—he really _did_ know better, he just often preferred to rile her up. Riven sidestepped, blocking her from her path. "You don't sing; I get that. But do you still dance?"

She groaned. "You're not asking me to dance with you, are you?"

"That's a _really_ stupid question. You know I am."

Musa chewed at her lip and placed a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head down to her level until they were eye-to-eye and close enough a sword could barely fit between them. Riven grinned and placed his own hand on her waist, encouraging her to step closer. But she didn't.

Musa gave him the dirtiest look she could muster. "No," and with that, she shoved him back and made a b-line around him for the bar.

Riven dropped back onto the couch, throwing occasional glances back at the tiny fairy as his hand strangled the neck of his half-gone bottle.

He hated the thought that he truly had hoped she would say yes.

•○

Musa couldn't believe him. Asking her to _dance_? Did he think he was irresistible? Did he think she was _that much_ of a sucker? Did he _honestly_ believe that she would accept?

Whatever he was thinking, she confirmed in her mind what she'd known all along: he was insane.

The blue-haired princess made her way over to the crowded bar and halfway over cursed her decision to wear heels. She could feel Riven's eyes burning a hole in her back, but she kept pressing through until she was leaning across the cold counter, sizing up the twelve-foot wall of liquor bottles.

A blonde man with thin glasses on his small nose popped up in front of her, smiling as though he was there to make her whole day better. He set the rag he was holding on the bar and leaned in towards her. "What can I get for you, gorgeous?"

"Alcohol, hold the gorgeous." He looked baffled. She surveyed the great display with sharp eyes, her fingernails tapping along the counter. "Do you make _Dancing Djinn_?" His face screwed up in confusion. "I'm taking that to mean no. How about _Ice Crab Sting_? That's a 'no' too." She huffed. "So I'm guessing you definitely don't make _Banshee Bliss_."

He drew back. "Are you crazy? Of course we don't make that. We don't even _learn_ how to make that."

She nodded in fake sympathy. "Right, how did I not realize. It's much too difficult." The man glared. "What _do_ you make that's stronger than _Fizz'n Fly_?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Most of our personnel are _fairies_, and fairies are notorious light weights. We don't serve anything too strong because it'd be a liability."

She smirked. "That's cute. You think fairies are lightweights."

Before she really considered what she was doing, Musa hoisted herself up onto the bar and landed daintily on the other side.

"What the hell are you doing?" the blonde hissed, jumping back in surprise.

Musa began trifling through the multiple bottles on the wall that she could reach. "It seems that I'm doing _your_ job. If I'm going to pay for a drink, I want to be satisfied in the knowledge that it's a _good_ drink and that it was not watered down as punishment for being a fairy."

"If you want strong drinks, go to a witch pub." The man crossed his arms determinedly.

Musa shook her head and shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah. I'd rather stay here. Besides," she set four bottles on the bar in front of her and grabbed a tall glass, "you could learn a lot from me. I'd get out a pen if I were you."

"The only thing I'm _getting_ is my manager."

"Good. If I'm even still here when you get back, I'm sure he could use a lesson too." She dropped three ice cubes into the glass and the man sneered, taking off in the opposite direction.

By the time he returned, Musa was eye level with the counter pouring the last bit of a pale violet liquid into her glass. The deep red concoction bubbled for a moment, then began to swirl into an opalescent shade, barely glowing pale blue. She took a step back, assessing the glass with a grin, and then turned to the two men who had appeared by her.

The second man was shorter, with nearly black hair and a few streaks of grey, matching goatee. He looked her over with amused intense blue eyes, and his lips curled into a smile.

"You made this?" the man asked in a raspy voice.

"He said you don't teach them how to make Banshee Bliss, so I had to do it myself. If you ask me, that's nearly unacceptable."

"It's nearly illegal, to be more precise." He looked at the bottles on the counter. "Can you make it again?"

"I'm not sure how to answer. Why do I get the feeling that this may be a trick question?"

"No tricks. It's just an honest inquiry."

"Of course I can." Musa grabbed the glass and took a sip. "Are you going to report me?"

"I should." The man took the glass from Musa and turned it around in his hand. The blonde kid looked incredibly smug until his manager handed the glass back to Musa. "You did jump the bar and steal my alcohol to make an illegal mixer."

"It's only _nearly_ illegal. And I'm going to pay for it."

"I figured you might. Which is why instead of reporting you, I'm offering you a job."

The blonde sputtered, and Musa's eyes widened considerably. "A job?"

The shorter man nodded and shooed away the blonde bartender. "Yes. I need someone who actually knows how to make stronger drinks—we've been getting complaints lately—and frankly none of my current staff have the slightest clue how to make a decent mixer." Musa's mouth was gaping, and the man chuckled. "Most people who attempt _Banshee Bliss_ end up inadvertently turning the drinker _into_ a banshee. Of course, you don't _have_ to accept, but you've got a talent, especially if you really can do it again."

Musa shook her head, clearing it. "I—I'd love a job, actually." It would get her off Techna's back and possibly into a place of her own.

"Great. Come back in tomorrow around one and we'll get everything together. My name is Liam." The man extended his hand and shook Musa's firmly.

"Musa. I—I look forward to it." She had no idea why she was stuttering, except out of sheer shock.

The man grinned. "As do I, Musa. Have a nice night." As Musa started off, he called out, "Oh, and Musa?"

"Yes?"

"Don't _ever_ climb on my bar again."

•○

He couldn't believe her. For all her claims at being unlucky and beat down by the world, _only Musa_ could manage to climb over a bar, steal a drink, and come out of it with a new job.

Though he supposed it didn't really matter, since she looked much more at ease ever since she'd returned with her _new_ fruity drink—he guessed it was fruity, because Musa always tasted like fruit. Not that he was tasting her now, but experience had taught him that much.

Techna meandered over towards their couches and plopped down by Musa. "He's working overtime tonight," Techna told her, no hint of emotion leaking from her voice.

"He's working _overtime_ on your birthday?" Techna nodded and Musa handed her the half-full glass of _Banshee Bliss_ in her hand.

"Honestly Musa, I just don't really see us fixing things this time around. It was one thing when I was being an unemotional bitch. But this is a different kind of separation. At least I realized how wretched I was being and apologized. He…can't comprehend how what he's doing could possibly be harmful."

"Have you talked to him about this?"

"This is Timmy we're talking about." Techna sipped slowly at the drink in Musa's hand, and smiled. "I haven't had one of these since Alfea." Musa nodded proudly and took it back, taking a long swig. "You really haven't lost your touch. If I'm correct, the power's even stronger from last time."

"It really just affects everyone differently. The more you want it to work, the stronger it is." Which was frustrating Musa endlessly. _Banshee Bliss_ had a small enchantment in it which would give its drinker a temporary lapse of any romantic feelings. In their school days, Techna had once referred to it as the birth control mixer. Musa could feel the emotions shutting down in her friend, and a peaceful vacancy fill their place, but she herself wasn't feeling any better—except for being a bit more intoxicated. She _wanted_ it to work, and yet it wasn't.

Riven had no idea what the two were saying quietly to each other. He stared down the glowing glass of evil that Musa held in her hand and slowly pondered whether she'd spiked it with something to make Techna suddenly enjoy herself.

"I won't lie," he said slowly to the pair across the way, "you're honestly starting to freak me out a little. You wandered over here a few minutes ago looking ready to strangle pixies, two seconds later you were on the brink of tears, and now you're cool as a frost giant."

Techna laughs. "That's the beauty of having Musa as your bartender. I can vouch for that much. It always hits the spot you need hit."

He looked at Musa with calculating eyes. "What'd you do to that drink? I've never seen one glow like that before."

She stared back at him, eyes just as calculating. "I didn't do anything to it, actually. It's just good at what it does, and I'm good at making it."

"And what is it that it does? Give you a false sense of hubris?"

"No," she snapped. "It does exactly what I made it to do. And you're messing it up."

He snorted. "That doesn't make any sense at all. I haven't even touched it, and wouldn't if you paid me."

"Good." Musa smiled and raised the glass to her lips.

•○

"_I wouldn't dance with you even in your dreams."_

She'd said it again when he asked a second time, though he wasn't sure if she realized the familiarity behind the statement. She'd leaned in so close their noses brushed, licked her plump red lips, and whispered those words in a low, sultry voice that he remembered ever-so-well.

"_I wouldn't dance with you even in your dreams."_

Then she pranced off, latching hands with Layla on her way to the center of the dance floor, pulsating with people and thrumming from the hypnotic music. Riven shamelessly let his eyes follow her until she could no longer be seen, and then lingered on the spot she'd last been, his face drawn in a mask of indifference.

Riven picked up his drink and downed the last of it. His voice was hardly audible, "I still dance with you in my dreams every night."

His verbal admittance made him groan, whether out of pain or annoyance, he didn't know.

Brandon came by and sat next to him, throwing a look at the group of girls he'd left his wife with. "She'll come around," he said to the taller man, who shot him a glare and scoffed.

"It's Musa, she doesn't work like that." He crossed his arms. "Besides, I never said I wanted her to, anyways."

Brandon's eyebrow rose and he did his best to hide his grin. "You don't have to _say_ anything. It's written all over your face."

"There's nothing on my fucking face, squire."

"You don't need to attack, Riven. I'm just stating the obvious."

Riven slammed his glass down on the table and stood, scooping up his jacket. "No you're not."

He stormed off. He could hear Brandon yelling after him for a second, trying to _apologize_ for a wrong he'd never committed. But Riven just kept pushing through the crowded club until he was finally outside, the brisk air a welcome sensation against his anger-flushed skin. He walked quickly down the poorly lit streets, nearly empty at the early hour in the morning, until he came upon his door.

Empty. He entered the house quietly, so as not to disturb the lonely still that had settled while he was gone. Shoes fell next to the door, and he padded across the wood floor in thin socks that let the cold seep through. Zanzibar stirred on the couch, sniffed, and shook his ears out.

Riven stumbled into his room, his mind painfully clear. His clothes were shed unceremoniously onto the ground—the ground which was not unfamiliar to such use. His head pounded as he sunk into the soft bed, and rolled over onto his stomach in hopes that it would dull the throbbing and cut off all light.

He hated clubs. He hated their music, and the smells. He hated the lights. He hated the jubilance that exuded from their occupants all through the night. He hated the smell of alcohol and sweat and perfume and sex all mixing together like a filthy tavern, and he hated the glorification of their existence. He hated the music. He hated the company. He hated that Musa fell into both categories.

Musa.

As his brain fell into step with the numbing pattern of his breath, images of her filled his mind, flooding his conscious and unconscious with long buried feelings and memories. Memories he hadn't indulged in since he was a young cadet at the Eliterlin. They were trained in restraint. Trained to close off emotion. Trained to fight.

But he couldn't fight this. He couldn't fight _her_ anymore.

He fell into a deep sleep, no longer fighting his memories. And he dreamed of dancing with his blue-haired muse.

* * *

**Again, all apologies. Leave me your comments!**

**~balai**


	10. Chapter 10

I'm working on finishing this story up sometime soon, but I'm very busy and make no promises. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10.**

Musa scrunched her nose up as she pulled the laces out of the ice skate for the third time. The sandy-haired boy huffed and kicked his feet, which frustrated her more.

"Brandon, you have to hold still. I can't put your skates on if you're swinging your legs."

The little boy huffed and crossed his arms. "No, you just can't put my skates on at all."

Musa cursed under her breath. _That_ was Stella's fault, she was sure. No normal two year old had an attitude like that. She wasn't really used to dealing with toddlers, but she was sure it was Stella's fault. It had to be.

'_I don't know the first thing about kids. I'd be hell watching yours. He'd probably get lost or burn the city down or get arrested or drown or get a face tattoo of a zebra's butt just because I was watching him.'_

'_Look, Musa, I really wouldn't ask it of you if we didn't think you weren't capable,' Brandon schmoozed earlier that day. 'He's a two year old boy. He's not going to be that much trouble. I'd ask Flora, but she and Helia are busy with wedding details and Sky's already got Radius for the night. It wouldn't be fair to Techna to leave them with two kids that aren't even hers. We're actually giving you the easy one.'_

_Musa gnawed on her lip as she wiped down the counter of the bar—so excited about her new job, she was taking it seriously now, and doing her best possible work to keep it spotless. 'I'm not qualified to watch a baby, Brandon. I wouldn't even know what to do with it. Or how to keep it from not breaking itself.'_

_The former specialist slumped a little onto the bar, half a grin on his charming face. 'He, Musa. Not __**it**__. And he's a toddler, not a baby. You can do quite a bit with him. Take him to the park. A movie. Oh! Ice skating! You can take him ice skating. He loves it.'_

_She frowned a little. 'Skating? On ice? Seriously? Isn't that dangerous? I mean, he's half sunshiney goodness, right? What if he freezes to death in the frozen tundra? What if he falls down and burns a hole through the pond? Or breaks his head open. I don't know how to cast very good first aid charms—obviously given my track record.'_

_He smiled. 'You don't have to worry about that, trust me. He's good at skating. All you've got to do is help him get the skates on. Please, Musa?'_

"Just let me do it." Musa rolled her eyes up to the sky. She'd almost managed to forget that Riven was there—of _course_ he was there, because _Stella_ had arranged for him to be. She threw her hands up in exasperation and stepped away from the small child, finally giving up on the discarded laces.

"Fine, but you've never skated before either, so it's not like you're not going to have any luck, jello-man." By the time she finished spitting out her sentence, Riven had finished tying up the second boot and was lifting little Brandon down to the ground, both wearing grins that lit up their faces like the lights that lined the rink. Musa's jaw twitched.

"You were saying, princess?"

"I'm sorry; I didn't realize you were a figure skater in your spare time."

"Actually, I just know _how_ to tie my shoes." Musa stared him down spitefully, not daring to look down to her untied boots, the laces frayed from years of wear from being stepped on and abused by the elements. He smirked cockily. "Do you need help with your skates too?"

Her nostrils flared. "Just because I don't tie my shoes does not mean I can't, okay?" Riven thanked his reflexes, because a second later, he found one of her ratty boots sailing towards his face. "So thank you very much mister-knight-in-shining-armor, but I think I can cope on my own." The red-haired man chuckled as she plopped down onto the bench, looking hell-bent on achieving her goal. Brandon Jr. was already on the rink, skating in neat little circles where Riven could keep an eye on him.

Unfortunately, Musa was wrong. Riven knelt down in front of her and began lacing up the skates. "I think that all these years of refusing to tie your shoes have made you forget how to do it altogether."

"That's stupid," Musa rebutted, slamming her foot onto the ground as she lifted up her other foot for him. "You can't unlearn how to tie your shoes. It's something babies know."

"Yet, it seems you have." He pulled her to her feet, and left his hands to linger on her small waist. "Don't worry," he whispered down to her gravely, bending his head down so that the gap between them was less dramatic. Musa looked at him in confusion and he smiled. "I can teach you. I'm a master of shoe-tying. _You-can-be-helped_."

Musa shoved him away. "You're an ass."

•○

Ice skating was surprisingly easy, Musa found. It was a lot like dancing, or flying (at a low height). Despite her clumsy tendencies, when it came to activities that required a certain amount of physical finesse, she was rather talented. She'd managed to only fall once during the span of an hour, and from that quick spill, she learned very quickly—it was far too cold _outside _to have to be sitting on something cold as well. She was a little disheartened that she was definitely nowhere near as good at it as little Brandon, but from the sounds of it, Stella and Brandon had been taking him skating for a while and it was one of his favourite treats. Still, for a first time skater, she was picking it up rather quickly.

Riven, on the other hand, wasn't having any such luck.

In fact, at that exact moment, he was leaning against the wall (hugging the wall, to be more exact), his legs struggling to keep him up on the ice, trying his best to look cool and collected (winded) as he watched Brandon Jr. skate circles around Musa. Musa was laughing as the little boy blabbered on about something as he went round and round, and suddenly, as though she could sense his staring, her eyes snapped up and met his and Riven found himself stuck like a deer in headlights. She let out a burst of laughter and then bent down, stopping the sandy-haired boy in his path. They exchanged some words (mocking him, he was sure), and then the little boy took off again and Musa straightened back up, shaking her head.

That was the end of it. He hoped, anyway.

But of course it wasn't. No, instead, that was when Musa started gracefully gliding—fucking _gliding —_over to him as though she'd been skating her whole life and stopped abruptly all of a foot and a half away from him, giving him the shock of his life (as he thought she was going to run into him, and he was going to fall again and not be able to get up).

She held a hand out to him and he gave it the oddest look he'd ever given anything in his life. "It's a hand, Riven," Musa clarified, rolling her deep blue eyes after a moment. "Do you want some help?" Riven glanced between her tiny hand and her face, back and forth, for almost an entire minute, and her smile grew at his lost, vacant expression. "A yes or no would do here, you know."

"I just don't see"—he looked back down at her hand, and up at her porcelain face—"how it's really a wise decision to have _you_ of all people offer _anyone_ help. I can't save you if you get hurt, you see, especially if you _believe_ you're helping me. And if we're both down for the count, then who's gonna watch the kid?"

Musa blinked. And scoffed. And turned her head away from him, as though she couldn't look at him. Then her whole body followed. Riven let out a silent breath that he'd been holding in since she saw him looking at her and listened for any cue at all that she was going to leave. He heard a deep sigh come from her and then suddenly felt himself being ripped away from the wall.

"Hey! No, no no! I did not agree to this." His legs were so unsteady that his back was nearly parallel to the ground as they scrambled for hold.

She slowed down once they were a decent distance from the safety of the wall. "Calm down, Hercules. You're going to be fine." She stopped long enough for him to gain stance, and then held out her hands, facing him. "We'll take it slow. You alright with that?"

Riven watched her eyes, then looked down at their feet and managed a nod. "Good," Musa smiled softly. "Just keep your legs moving outward. Left…right. Left, right. Left, right. Good. You're actually moving. Just keep this up—no, don't look up, stare at your feet if it helps you. Okay. Left, right. Again. Left—"

His foot hit hers, the blades tangling together, and Riven landed unceremoniously on top of her with a thud as her head and his chin both smacked against the ice. "Right?" Musa cringed and shook her head.

"No," she groaned. "That's not really how it works if you do it right."

Riven chuckled dryly at her attempt at humour and his head fell into the crook of her neck, involuntarily inhaling her scent. "Did you change your perfume?" He'd been craving to ask her since he'd first noticed on the Tapinak Mountains. He'd always loved how she smelled, but this was new and richer, smokier, than the fruity spray she used to have. It was making him lightheaded, and, he mused that it maybe smelled a little _too_ alluring.

She snorted out a laugh. "I'm a girl. It's been four years, Riven. Of course I did. I was a little tired of smelling like a fruit salad."

"I like it." Riven slid a hand under her head where it had hit the ice. "Are you alright?" He ran a finger down the side of her face. "I didn't mean to knock you over."

"So much for taking it slow, right?" the blue-haired fairy laughed and rolled her eyes. "Though I guess with us this is how it always works, huh?" Startled, Riven looked down at her, and couldn't quite find words to respond. They just stared at each other in silence. Then Musa shrugged. "It's no use sitting on our asses. Now for the hard part."

She managed to climb to her feet fairly easily after getting out from under Riven. Then she extended her hands to him and smiled somewhat somberly. "Time to get up and try again."

•○

"I have very important business to attend to outside of this realm, men," Lieutenant Helux Esposito announced as he paced back and forth across the deck. "I expect each and every one of you to continue your duties as if I were still here to oversee things as usual. If I come back and there is any slacking, anything is out of order, _everyone_ will be punished. Am I understood?"

Each and every man lined up straightened his back and let out a harmonious _'Sir, yes sir'_ right on cue.

"I will be leaving Sergeant Tamm to oversee that things continue to run smoothly in my wake. If anything goes wrong, you are report directly to him. If things go wrong, he will handle them as efficiently as I have, and he _will not_ cut you any slack. If I have to return early for any reason at all…things will be much worse than you can imagine. Is this clear?"

Once again, the men let out a chorus to let the Lieutenant know that he was understood.

"Good. When I return, we will be departing for the Omega Dimension once again to rotate prisoners. Your highest priority is to keep the witch on ice until then. Now get back to work."

The Lieutenant watched with sinister pleasure as the crew scampered like mice desperate to be the first to leave, so enrapt with watching his prey that he hardly noticed the man who lingered to the side of him, half hidden by the shadows.

"Do you really expect there will be trouble, sir?" the tall, spiny man asked at last, glaring through eerie, slitted eyes from his spot in the darkness. Helux turned slowly from the show before him and faced the young man, paler than himself and nearly as tall. The man wore his inky hair short and slicked back and a dusting of facial hair along his jaw. Messy.

"For you, there might be. If you think you can't handle it, Tamm, speak now and I'll find a more _experienced_ soldier to take your place in my absence."

It was a challenge and by the way the younger man straightened, Helux was positive he could tell. Good. A decent sense of pride was necessary to make it in his crew.

"Of course I can handle them sir. As far as punishment goes…" the young man left the question hanging from the tip of his blue, alien tongue, as though not finishing the sentence would make his implications less extreme and mark him better than his superior.

Helux waved him off and made his exit. "Anything you feel is necessary, you may execute, Sergeant. We're in dead space; we make our own laws."

The young soldier smiled as the Lieutenant stalked out, doors swinging shut behind him. "Perfect."

His spiny hand passed over his delicate-featured face, purple smoke passing behind it, and when the smoke cleared, he stood there as he had before, but with Darcy's features rather than the slightly sharper, more masculine ones that had replaced them. She wiped away the soot from her jaw (she'd seen the disapproving look that Helux had given that small detail and she mentally applauded her attention to the small details of her costume).

The hardest part had been creating Tamm's persona. She had slowly been building Norelis Tamm into the minds and hearts of the crew for the last fourteen months, skimping on no single detail. She created what he looked like, the foods he liked, what planet he came from, his birthday, his family, his history, his favourite hobbies on the ship, which Quadrant he trained with, and most importantly, she created an inane trust that resulted in Helux leaving Norelis Tamm in charge of the ship each and every time he had to leave for business.

And each and every time, the only stipulation was Darcy. She was not to be let out.

It was so easy.

She didn't even have to hold up the illusion around most of the crew any longer. They all saw her and heard Tamm's voice and as long as _Tamm_ assured them that the witch was on ice, they would believe anything that she told them. The entire crew was simple minded and gullible.

Darcy started off down the hall, feeling off balance without her long hair swinging behind her—however, for this phase of her plan, it was easiest to just get rid of it altogether. The crew may be composed of idiots, but Helux wasn't one.

Few men dared to speak to her on her way. They were all aware that _Norelis Tamm_ was rather content to step into the Lieutenant's shoes—or take his power a step further, as they had experienced before—and after Helux's address, they did not want to push the man in the slightest, given his infamous temper when prodded. Even the company med mages cleared her—_his_—path as Darcy stomped down the dim corridors to the main control room of the ship.

The control room was the brightest room in the entire ship. When the door whirred open, she blinked and stumbled backwards, shocked by the intensity of the lights. She had never made it this far with her plan, and it seemed it would be the last time she had to attempt an escape again. She checked behind her and after she was sure the halls were clear, closed the doors and entered the control room.

She'd hijacked several ships before, but never a high-security prison vessel.

But that wasn't what she was looking for. Her eyes glowed right back at the panels and buttons as she scanned the buttons, knobs, and dials, pacing the floor of the massive room for what she was looking for.

_Why wasn't there a man on duty?_

Her fingernails scraped into the metal like nails on a chalkboard, from afar looking dainty, but with all the force she could muster. Her ochre eyes widened and narrowed with pleasure, her face lit sinisterly and framed by her short greased hair—a ghastly image. A thin finger pressed into a very small, nearly hidden button, and all lights in the control room pulsed, then turned off entirely.

Darkness was her domain. She closed her eyes and found exactly what she was looking for.

About thirty seconds passed of slowing engines, and then a shrill silence filled the ship. Behind her, a faint blue light ignited. Darcy looked back at it and then walked over to a speaker.

She pressed the call button. "Attention crew. This is Sergeant Tamm speaking. Well—no, I'm not actually Tamm. Tamm doesn't exist. I'm actually your most precious iced witchcicle.

"Now, don't panic. It's not as serious as you think. I've cut all the power to the lower levels, which includes the lower level holding cells and your engines. There's an asteroid heading for you within the next two hours, but I've cut the wires to your emergency starter. I suggest if any of you want to make it out alive, you start working on trying to get this ship moving again. And good luck. Without the power, your ice won't last long and your prisoners aren't going to be happy that they were locked up. I'll be using your last teleport. Thanks for the jump."

The door blasted open, three armed guards on the other side, but Darcy was already safely inside the blue beam of light waving her farewell. By the time they were close enough to grasp her arm, she had evaporated.

•○

Musa and Riven were exhausted by the time they got Brandon back to the hotel that his parents were staying at. They were baffled by the fact that the elevator had a sofa in it, but they were more than grateful for it given that the Solarian royalty were staying in the penthouse suite on the fourty-first floor and little Brandon was _still_ running in circles, despite the fact that he was balancing a double-scooped ice cream cone in one hand and it was nearly midnight.

Riven let out a puff of air. "Be honest; was the ice cream too much?"

Musa gave him a sidelong look. "A bit, don't you think? There's no way he's going to sleep tonight."

"How likely do you think it is that Stella's going to kill me?"

She managed a smirk and pulled her legs up onto the couch, wincing as she touched a particularly painful bruise. "Not likely, Riven. Stella likes to think we're her puppets. She's not going to let us die until she's satisfied with our lives."

The verbal declaration was very unnerving for the both of them.

The elevator moved very slowly. Neither of them technically _initiated _it, but by the time it stopped at the top floor, the two adults were sitting closely together—Musa blamed it on exhaustion, Riven blamed it on his irresistibility (oh, who was he kidding, he knew it was exhaustion)—and their hands were clasped loosely between them, Musa's head resting on Riven's arm.

Brandon bounced up in time with the elevator's bell. "Ding!" he called out, startling the pair out of their serenity. Lethargically, they followed him out of the elevator and rang the doorbell.

Stella opened the door a moment later looking absolutely radiant in a shimmering dark blue dress, her hair falling from its elegant up-do.

"You two have perfect timing. We just got back from picking up Radius about five minutes ago."

"Hi Mama," Brandon beamed up at her through a layer of chocolate and mint ice cream. Stella gasped, her face contorting into a look of horror and anguish.

"Baby, what did they do to you?"

Behind her, her husband pushed the door open wide and scooped the little boy up into his arms and laughed robustly. "I don't think that's the question you should be asking them, honey."

The blonde looked over the pair in her doorway and tilted her head with a wince, taking in the multiple bruises on their faces and arms in varying shades of purple, green, yellow and blue. "You're right. What the _hell_ happened to you two?"

Riven crossed his arms defensively. "Ice skating was _your_ idea, sunshine."

"Actually, it was Brandon's," Stella responded. "And it usually works better on your feet, not your face. It's ice skating, not ice brawling. He's not allowed to do that until he's at least nine." Under her breath she added, _'If ever'_.

Brandon just continued to laugh. "When I told you that you shouldn't worry about Brandon, I didn't think I'd have to worry about _you_. But then again, when do we not."

Musa threw her hands up. "I'm accident prone and you entrusted your kid to me and expected nothing to go wrong? What sense did that make? Just be glad he didn't snare a jinx and come back in pieces."

Stella shrugged with an uncharacteristic air of nonchalance. "Oh, we're not complaining. I'm just very amused. Next time I tell you to go get some colour, though, try for a more flattering shade and a less painful method. You're sporting far too much blue, and the hair was more than enough to begin with."

"And stop letting Musa beat you up, Riven. This has gone on far too long," Brandon added with a grin before retreating into the suite.

Stella watched him go and addressed Musa and Riven very briefly, her tone all-business. "You need to be up early tomorrow. I know the wedding isn't for a few more days, but final arrangements need to be made at Alfea, and I'm leaving it up to you two to go to talk to Faroganda about using the lake for the wedding."

Riven's eyebrow climbed up his forehead, unamused. "You're leaving an awful lot up to _us_."

Stella squared her shoulders right back at him, as though to tell him she'd meet any argument he could come up with. "I have a brand new baby that demands _an awful lot_ of my time, Riven, and two kingdoms to prepare to run. Unless you'd like to trade, I'd just do what I tell you to." She batted her eyelashes at the both of them, her hand on the handle of the door. "Sound good?"

Musa put on a very sugary show of mocking her expression. "You ask that as though we have a choice."

"I'm so glad we speak the same language, Musey. You should teach your boyfriend some fluency. Good night, you two."

The mismatched pair ambled back to the elevator after the door closed shut and the lock was audibly latched, and their swinging arms managed to find themselves entwined once again out of the sheer feeling of loss from having disconnected in the first place.

"She's so crazy," Riven groaned as he leant against the wall, Musa facing him in close proximity. Musa shrugged but didn't give a committal answer for or against his statement. "She is. You know it. Why do you put up with it?"

"She's Stella. It's one of the things we all love about her—and you know you love her too, so don't even go singling me out."

"Maybe. But you're the worst of us all." He pulled her close to him, warm arms embracing her small frame. "I had fun with you tonight, pixie."

"Even though I had to help you against your will and you kept beating me up?"

He couldn't help the smile on his face. "Yeah. Even though." Musa pressed her face into his chest while his fingers tangled into her messy hair, biting her lip to hold back her smile.

"I did too."

•○

"Stella, get away from the door."

"I will, I promise. Just another minute. The elevator's almost here." Stella's back was aching and her feet were killing her from the awkward angle her feet had to perch at, but this…_was worth it_.

Brandon put a hand on her arm and pulled her back gently. "Now, Stella. Let them be. You're kind of being really creepy right now."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are. It's not okay to spy on people through peep-holes in hotels."

"But—"

"Honey," Brandon brushed her soft blonde hair from her face and smiled softly. "It's one thing to try to choreograph their lives as though they're part of a puzzle or characters in one of your soap operas that you like to pretend you don't write"—Stella's cheeks flushed pink and her hazel eyes looked around the room for anything but her husband's to focus on—"but you _cannot _spy on them when they're having a moment. _If_ they're having a moment."

"Oh, they're having a moment." She smiled proudly. She knew moments. They were _definitely_ having a moment, and it was all part of her doing. Because she was that good. No one believed her, but she told them.

Brandon sighed, his lips turned into a half smile. "That's fine. You _know_ we all want them to work things out. But we want them to do it on their own time—without an audience."

"But Schnookums—"

"No, Stella. Come to bed. Let them be." He kissed her nose and went to the bedroom, leaving her to make her choice.

Stella stood there for a moment, chewing on her knuckle.

As quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the door and peered out the small glass hole—after all, they were called peep holes for a reason. It was her divine _right_ to peep on them.

"Damnit!" The elevator had come and gone, taking the pair with it.

"Stella!"

* * *

**Getting back into the cheesy romance :P ****You'll be hearing from me soon!**

**Leave me reviews!**

**~balai**


	11. Chapter 11

**Aaaand, here you go. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 11.**

The leva bike pulled through the tall gates of Alfea and whirred to a stop beside the stone wall. Musa was quick to slide off the seat—get _away_ from him—and she pulled the heavy helmet off, her hair in a messy bun (even messier from the prolonged helmet use than when she'd fashioned it). Her foot tapped impatiently as she waited for Riven to step away from his precious bike. There was _no_ way the short barrage of pine cones they'd passed through had done any lasting damage.

"Come on, already," she pushed, feeling uncomfortable and misplaced being back at the old school she'd been all-too-eager to leave the first time around.

Riven chuckled and set his helmet down on the seat of the bike. "You really want to leave that badly?"

She rolled her dark blue eyes. "Like you don't." She hadn't slept for more than an hour the night before. She'd spent the entire night tossing and turning as her mind played a vicious recap of the night, replaying every innocent yet lingering touch and torturing her with his smell, still clinging to the fabric of her sweater.

Needless to say, she'd woken up feeling very definitely 'on the wrong side of the bed'.

"I don't know." Riven smirked, arms crossed and hips cocked ostentatiously. He looked around the entrance of the courtyard, making a show of the assessment. "This place definitely holds some…fond…memories." She noted his eyes lingering on the window that they both knew was once hers, a tall tree growing below it. And then he winked at her.

Musa visibly bristled, face flushed, teeth ground together in astonishment. "No."

His grin widened. "I can think of a few."

"Don't even go there." She spun on her heel and stomped off toward the grand entrance and with her back safely to him, she tried her best to compose herself. _Calming breaths._ Her lip was worried red from her teeth gnawing at it the entire way there.

Riven caught up with her with ease. "Come on," he laughed and placed a warm hand on her shoulder, "It was a joke."

She shrugged his hand off. "Yeah, it was," she responded, her voice clipped. She sunk as much distaste into the short sentence as she could muster.

Riven didn't miss the intent at all. The mercenary stopped short. "What is that supposed to mean?"

They were supposed to meet with Faroganda. Stella had assured her they would be in that ever-familiar office for hours, so _there was no time to waste_.

Musa's walking slowed. She finally stopped, throwing her head back in frustration, eyes clenched shut. When she turned to face him, her arms were crossed defensively, as though she thought that somehow that small barrier would keep him from getting under her skin. "Riven, do we _really_ have to talk about this now? We're here for a reason."

"The old bat's not going anywhere. I can't think of a better time than now to talk about this."

If the fairy was bothered by the derogatory term used toward her old head mistress, it didn't show. "There's nothing _to_ talk about," she insisted.

"Really?" The tall man stepped in closer, his stance mimicking hers perfectly. "Because that's definitely not how it looked last night. If that's nothing," he leaned his head forward, the tip of his nose brushing against hers. "I can't wait to see _something_."

The fairy shoved at his chest and turned away. "We have a truce, Riven. Nothing more. A truce not to fight until after the wedding." He was messing it up. He was messing _her_ up. She suddenly had to think through every step she took, every move she made. She had to keep her head about her.

"Fuck the truce."

"Excuse me?"

"No, you know what?" They were dancing around one another now, him advancing and her retreating. "This isn't about the truce. You wouldn't act like this because of a _truce. _You're just using that as a blanket to hide under so you can claim innocent to what's really going on, and all the while you're playing a petty little game of hot and cold because you _know_ it drives me insane. _That_ has nothing to do with a fucking truce."

She wanted to avert her eyes and look anywhere but him and at the accusations he was throwing her way, but she knew she had to stand strong. And deny. Deny, deny, deny. "Riven, this is ridiculous. You're making a scene."

Not as though there were any witnesses to see, as all classes were in session.

He threw his hands out. "Making a scene? Do you really think I care? From where I stand, you're making a bigger scene, but you're sneaky about it. At least I'm being up front." The former specialist huffed out a large breath. "Look, I'm putting myself on the line here and you know me well enough to know that _I don't do that._ This has gone on so long and I'm tired of burying it like it's nothing." He ran a hand over his face and his attempt at calming himself failed. "You know we still have something, Musa. You can deny it all you want, but deep down you know it's true."

"What we have is a truce." Her head felt numb, as though it was floating, and all her words were suddenly caught in her throat, jumbled together like a messy ball of yarn. She could think of so many retorts, so many ways to strike him down and make him leave forever, but not a single word came to her. _Traitors_.

In the time she'd stood with her mouth gaping open searching for dry words that never came out, he'd stepped in until their bodies were close enough that a record would have to squeeze to fit between them. His palm pressed against her cheek affectionately, angling her face to look up into his. "It's more than just a truce. You know that."

She wanted to sink into the feeling of his hand against her. She wanted to lean in and confirm every word he was saying.

Her pride took the reins. Musa shook her head. "Riven, what I know is that I broke up with you. And even now, I'm standing by that choice."

Hurt shone clearly in his violet eyes like it never had before—usually, he would skip straight to anger. He searched her face in an attempt to see through her thick-skinned façade, but was thrown off by her stone cold expression. His hand dropped as though he'd been burned by her fair skin. "If that's how it is."

"It…" Musa nodded, though her throat was constricted. "We're here to do our job. Can we just…focus on that, please?" She needed it as a distraction, because she was suddenly wracked not only with the guilt of what she'd said, but also with the hurt she could feel oozing off of him that he hid almost too well.

His eyes burned right through her and it scared her that she was right on par with him when it came to a talent for locking out emotion. Riven shrugged, his long hair brushing against his shoulders. "Fine, Pixie. Lead the way."

Their meeting with Ms. Faroganda hadn't taken more than twenty minutes after all. They'd had a quick bout of fond greetings (Griselda had stood in the corner cursing quietly to herself at the return of the trouble-making student they'd _been rid of_) and some short-lived small talk, which consisted of Ms. Faroganda gushing about how wonderful it was that she and Riven were back together. Riven had coughed loudly, awkwardly, and Musa shot him a glare before she proceeded to shoot down the idea. Needless to say, Musa was grateful when the reminiscing was cut short, however fond she was of the old fairy godmother.

At first, there had been reservations about letting the school be used for the wedding. Griselda had argued that since it was a school, it would be inappropriate to have the place swarming with adults that had otherwise no business being there, and that the festivities that followed a ceremony had no place at a school. While Ms. Faroganda was open to the thoughts, she was nowhere near as reserved. Musa expressed that Flora wanted the ceremony itself to take place by the lake just beyond the school, where they had a small lake house and they could simply hold the reception there.

_Nonsense, _the kindly old woman had said to that. Griselda had skimmed over the fact that the students would be on a three-week holiday during the time that the wedding was to be held, and that it would be a delight to hold the reception in the Great Hall.

Riven had started pacing about floor then, anxious to get out of the sweltering room and back into the fresh air, especially given the shrewd pointed looks he was receiving from the Deputy Head Mistress.

Their partings had taken another five minutes and Riven was sure, then, that Musa was only doing it to piss him off. She wasn't one to gab like a school girl, or to reminisce about old times.

By the time they were finally outside, Riven's jaw was sore from clenching his teeth the entire time.

Musa, to the contrary, seemed in a much more jovial mood. Her smile had returned as she skipped a little through the court yard a few steps away from him. And she wouldn't _shut up_.

"That really wasn't so painful. I don't understand why Stella was so dead set that it would be a long process to convince her—though I suppose Ms. F and Griselda have always sort of had a strained relationship with Stell. She _did_ commit arson. But they mostly forgave her by the time she left. Either way, I don't see why she couldn't have just had a hologram conference with them about it. She wouldn't even have had to leave the hotel, or get a babysitter. You know what I mean?"

Riven merely grunted to appease her. He plucked her helmet from the bike and handed it to her aggressively.

Musa just held it in her arms, pressed up against her stomach, and kept talking. Her head spun around the campus, taking it all in as Riven had earlier in jest. "It really is so beautiful here. I forgot how much I missed it. That is, the school itself. I don't miss being a student. But I miss walking around in the mornings. And sneaking out at night." A light blush appeared on her cheeks at the mention and Riven's eyebrow quirked. "I think I miss being close to people more than anything, and the fun times that came with being part of a group. In all honesty, my senior year would have been a lot better if y—"

The princess stopped short, catching herself. It was as though she hadn't realized she'd been talking, or even who she was talking to. Riven wondered in passing if she even realized there was someone else there through most of her conversation.

Though he was still a bit hurt from their fight earlier, Riven decided to take advantage of the moment. He smirked cockily. "It's okay. You can say you missed me."

Her face contorted awkwardly. "That's _not_ what I was going to say."

"Your face says differently." He brushed a finger across her flushed cheekbone and it deepened to a red. Riven chuckled.

"My face lies." She stormed over to the bike and climbed onto the seat, her arms still cradling the heavy helmet. "Can we just go?"

His grin grew. "Sure, Muse." He slid onto the bike in front of her and heard her groan behind him.

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, Princess." He turned his body half way to face her and looked pointedly at the helmet. "You have to wear that if you want us to leave."

She looked down at the helmet then to his. "You're not wearing yours."

"Cute," he smirked at her. "Worried about me?"

"No. I'm worried about your hypocritical idea of safety."

"I'm less likely to fall off and die."

Musa's nose crinkled. "Don't be stupid, Riven. If we crashed you'd be just as likely—"

He didn't even let her finish her sentence. Riven turned completely on his bike and grabbed her face between his large hands, crushing his lips to hers with almost painful desperation.

Musa's eyes, wide in shock, drifted closed as the helmet slipped from her hands and then before she realized what was going on, a loud crash alerted their half-present minds to the bike falling to the ground as her back was slammed gently against the wall, his body pinning her tightly to the stone.

Suddenly, all thoughts of schools and decorum and half-hearted truces fled her mind.

She couldn't believe they were here, again, doing this, again.

Her fingers wound through his long hair, pulling gently at the nape, as his traveled down her side and along her legs. His mouth was warm on her neck, her jaw, teeth pulling at her pink, pouty lips and hers followed his in perfect rhythm, leaning into every taste so that he nearly stumbled from the momentum. He stepped in to her, hitching her legs up higher around his waist for better access.

A deep, throaty groan ripped from Musa's mouth. "Riven."

Being a man of opportunity, he took advantage of it. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, delicately skimming along her teeth before he pushed his way deeper, his tongue wet and strong against hers and when his retreated, she couldn't help that she let herself go with him, teeth nipping, as though she could draw some answer from within his mouth.

Her skin tingled where his fingers passed until he wasn't just brazing over her clothes, but grabbing, caressing underneath, hands warm and rough and just _right_. Her head fell back as his lips traveled up and down her neck. She felt herself go blissfully numb, only existing where he was touching, every nerve shockingly alive and thrumming with almost audible emotion. A nearly silent moan escaped her lips.

His eyes opened, locking on hers. His hand abandoned their post under her vest and slid sensuously up her neck, brushing over the sensitive skin behind her ear, and he pulled her in. This time, he didn't kiss her with the same ferocity or fervor, but took his time to draw out each spark and buzz of static between them. It was passion she could feel all the way down to her curled toes.

She'd missed this. He'd missed this.

•○

If Musa had had it her way, she would have had a moment or two to lean back against the door. She would have taken those moments to think about what had just happened—because her body was still humming with the rush that only Riven could make her feel—and she would have sighed, thinking of the way his hands felt, his lips tasted, and the way he looked at her with his darkening eyes. She would have probably sighed like a schoolgirl kissed for the first time after a respectable third date. More than likely, she would have just sunk onto the entrance-way floor of Techna's apartment and she definitely would have smiled like an idiot as she combed through her hair, trying to untangle the mess that had resulted of an hour of wind-whipped hair and their tryst against the stone wall of Alfea.

But Musa definitely didn't get the chance.

In fact, the second she walked through the door—grinning like an idiot—she was bombarded with a very angry looking Techna.

"This is your mess. _You_ take care of it." Techna grabbed the shorter girl by her shoulder and started to push her towards where the living room was. Her eyes were wide with frustration, and Musa suddenly feared what would be waiting for her.

They rounded the corner into the expansive room and Musa skidded to a stop in her path, surprising Techna. Musa's dark blue eyes scanned the scene before her, trying to make sense of it, as though she didn't believe what she was seeing. And she didn't. Because standing in the middle of the room in what appeared to be a very heated argument with Sky was her '_leave a note in marker on your fridge and call it a break up'_ ex boyfriend, Tatum.

Sky met her gaze, his expression fierce and angry, and the shorter man noticed the loss of attention. He swiveled in place, staring right at her.

"Musa," he cooed almost sweetly.

He was shorter than she could remember, and for once he'd actually bothered to shave the atrocious soul patch that he wore so proudly on his narrow chin (he knew how much she hated it on him). His pale green eyes betrayed his show of kindness, as did the bulge on his jaw that attested to his anger.

Musa's eyes tightened. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to see you." He stepped towards her and Musa gave him a harsh look, stopping him in his tracks. Sky moved slowly around the dark-haired man and stood off to the side behind Musa. The outrage and insult emanating from him pounded churned in her gut, burning like bile. She could almost feel the tight set of Sky's shoulders and the strain in his neck and arms as if they were her own. Musa crossed her arms.

"What would possibly make you think I wanted to see you?"

"I miss you, Musa. I messed up. I shouldn't have broken up with you. I was just stupid and I got carried away. And you wanted a level of commitment that I just didn't want. But I'm different now."

Musa cocked her head, appraising the thin man as he shoved his hands deep in his pockets. His words were empty, coming from a place of fabricated emotion.

He hadn't even had the guts to break up with her in person.

"How did you find where I was?" The only person back in Sperare who knew she'd left was Charlie, and Musa knew without a doubt that the thief would never had told Tatum where she'd gone. She hated him far too much.

"I went to your building and Marty said you left, so I had Donny—you remember Donny, right? He worked at the station. I had Donny look up your latest jumps."

Musa twitched. Since the Halvecto Massacre three years before, jump history had been deemed officially confidential and unlawful to release to anyone regardless of the nature of their inquiry or familial status. Jump Conductors were the only people who ever viewed the history, and they were sworn to secrecy. She'd always known Donny was a shady character, but to violate his position as a Jumper was treason if anyone found out.

"That's illegal, Tatum. What the hell were you thinking?"

"It's not illegal. We had an under-the-table deal. He had something I wanted and I had something he wanted. It was a trade."

"That's even _more_ illegal." Musa reached a hand back, bumping it into Sky's broad chest. He got the message immediately and moved towards the entrance. "Tatum, you need to leave."

The thin man balked. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm really not."

"I came all this way to apologize to you and now you're kicking me out?"

Musa began walking backwards into the hallway and he followed as though he were attached by an invisible string. "You broke up with me by vandalizing my fridge. You violated my privacy, hunted me down illegally, and then imposed yourself on my friends who you then _insulted_. Whether or not you're apologizing, you're lucky I listened to a word you had to say."

Tatum shook his head, desperately looking for something to lash out at. His pale eyes narrowed. "You call these people your friends? They're trying to run me out of your life and you're letting them brain wash you to think it's what you want."

"You're an idiot, Tatum. If my friends played any role in how I felt about you, we wouldn't even be standing here now. Charlie offered at least a hundred times to make you disappear." She pushed his shoulder, nudging him out into the sterile elevator well. "And don't ever assume you know my friends again." She slammed a hand on the print scanner and stepped back as the doors began to close. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose.

A slam made her look up. Tatum was standing there with a hand wedged in the door, holding the elevator from closing. "Musa," he begged, "give me another chance. I promise I've changed. Just have lunch with me."

"Why should I waste my time?"

"I love you, Musa," he said. Musa's heart panged at the insincerity behind the crucial words. "Please, baby, just give me a chance."

Musa shook her head. "No. You're not worth it."

"I want to prove to you that I changed." He leaned forward, but Musa moved away. His face played the perfect example of remorse that he couldn't feel in his heart. "I changed for you, Musa."

Musa was still shaking her head. "I don't want to hear it."

"Just coffee, then. Meet me for coffee, that's all I ask." Her head continued to shake, her eye roll growing more and more exhasperated with each word he said. "Come on, Musa." Tatum hung his head down, looking all the world that he'd conceded to defeat. "I'll pay this time."

The princess stopped and gave him a shrewd look, at which he nodded pitifully, a small pout tugging his lip out. She sighed.

"Fine. Just coffee." He smiled, a bright smile that met his eyes and she did not return. "Eleven thirty," she said as she pressed the scanner one more time. "If you're late, forget about it."

•○

"You were two hours late and 'ee was still there waiting for you?"

Musa nodded and spun the glass of whiskey on the bar counter. Charlie's face screwed into a mask of disbelief and disgust, her green eyes appalled.

"Tatum? The same jerk who told you to walk home on your fifth date because 'ee couldn't afford the fuel to drive you? The same jerk who told you that he didn't have time to go to the only show you played during the entire time you lived here because he was going to watch the fight his mates were planning halfway across the city? Are we on the same page?"

The amber liquid spilled effortlessly into her mouth. Musa's pale hand grasped at the glass firmly, setting it down with a careful gesture that suggested the unease she was feeling.

What had she been _thinking_? Tatum had treated her awfully. His inability to be on time to anything didn't really bother her all that much—she was hardly punctual herself. However, the entire six months they had been together—neglecting to count the three that had preceded that in which he fought with himself and her over whether they were even a couple—he'd been a brash, selfish jerk and he found no problem with bailing at the first glimpse of an issue. Or bailing at the first glimpse of something that would promise greater entertainment than (_Pandora forbid)_ his own girlfriend's company.

She recalled bitterly that she had the same tendencies when it came to matters of the heart, but she had _tried_ for him. It had been so long, she figured it was about time that she found a meaningful relationship and _kept _it. Her problem had been in thinking that their relationship meant enough to the both of them that they would be inclined to change.

She swallowed the alcohol at last and picked at the smooth wood bar. "Yeah, that'd be him. I was shocked too."

Charlie's mouth gaped open as her head shook in unfathomable disbelief. "No. No, Musa. You can't take 'im back. You weren't even upset when he broke up with you. What the hell could go through your mind to make you to go _back_ to him?"

Musa's chest fell with a heavy sigh. She _hadn't_ been upset when he broke it off. She'd been upset that he'd been a coward in how he went about it. She'd been upset that she had to spend hours scrubbing her fridge and attacking it with an onslaught of half-assed cleaning charms. But she hadn't been the least bit upset that they weren't together.

Looking back on it, Musa felt a bit put out that she had missed that integral part of the break up process. Wasn't she supposed to turn into a broken, sobbing mess that fell into her best friend's embrace while devouring buckets of unappetizing flavours of ice cream? She was obviously being jipped of a milestone in her life.

"I don't think I even liked him that m—"

"Mother of Bloody Mary, you didn't even _like_ 'im that much!" The two women shared a slight awkward glance. Charlie rolled her eyes and shouted for another round of drinks. The thief leaned across towards Musa and was suddenly a bit too close for comfort. "I hate him, Musa. You know I hate 'im. I've offered time and time again to slice 'im up for you."

She chuckled uncomfortably and leant back on the stool. "I know you have. But that's sort of illegal, if you recall."

"Illegal is just a point of view." Without breaking eye contact, Charlie's hand whipped out and stopped a frothing stein of beer from careening down the counter. She picked the heavy glass up, but waited to drink it, saying, "You had two choices: letting me make 'im '_disappear_' or going to coffee with him. And you chose to go to coffee with him. What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The fairy huffed, amused by her friend's dire view of things. "Gee, I didn't realize that things were that serious. It was just coffee, Charlie. I get coffee with you all the time. I get coffee with my cousin, and my old vocal trainers." That is, she imagined she would if she was speaking to anyone in the Harmonic Nebula.

"No. This is unacceptable. This is 'let's talk about a really vile relationship' coffee, not 'let's catch up so we don't feel so bad about not talking to each other for years' coffee." Her large green eyes narrowed nearly to slits. "_That_ would be acceptable coffee to have with him."

"It was just coffee, Charlie."

"You don't even _like_ coffee!"

"Which is why it was a perfect drink to share with him."

Charlie's beer hit the table with a loud clunk that had several personel looking their way. "No. No no no no." She ran a hand down her face, her scruffy brown hair falling to cover her eyes. "You can't get coffee with him. Coffee turns into lunch and lunch turns into late night pubs and before you know it he's sucked you in."

Musa remained silent but eyed her friend with a wary expression. Charlie had always reminded her of Stella for many reasons, but she'd never seen the similarities so stark as now.

"It was just coffee," Musa lamented again. The sentiment had long since worn out, and was just empty words on repeat in Musa's mind. She threw back another glass of whiskey. It _was_ just coffee. Hate coffee. She could have hate coffee with her ex, couldn't she? If she could go out on hiking expeditions and go ice skating and share midnight ice cream cones and make out against the wall at her old school with Riven, she sure as hell could have hate coffee with Tatum. Right? In fact, she mused, she should be having hate coffee with Riven, too. That would definitely clear things up.

She laughed in her head at her silly, childish reaction to Riven's kiss the day before.

"What about Riven?" Charlie's thick voice cut through her thoughts, and Musa snapped her head to look at the smirking charlatan. _Speak of the devil_. Only, she hadn't spoken of him, she'd merely thought of him.

Sometimes Musa wondered if Charlatan had a minor ability to read minds.

"What about him?" She suddenly wished she hadn't finished her drink and instead resorted to staring bitterly to the small pool still swirling at the bottom.

"You two have that…thing that you have. I saw it. How does 'ee feel about you stepping out for coffee with the spineless tosser?"

Musa's eyebrows furrowed. "Stepping ou—" she shook her head, scoffing in a scandalized manner. "It's not 'stepping out'. We're not together at all. We don't have a thing. I pretty much hate him."

Hate sounded about right. She wasn't sure what it was, but somewhere between returning from Alfea with him and her coffee date with Tatum, something had pushed her from excited and happy feelings for the Specialist to woven feelings of anger and annoyance.

"Princess, you don't hate him." Musa twitched a little at the nickname, and Charlie continued to ramble, her eyes shrewdly watching the smaller woman. "Trust me, I know what hate looks like. I'm full of hate. You know that well. I hate people." Something towards the door caught her eye and her head whipped around. "Ugh. _Him_. I hate him. This is a perfect example."

Musa looked over to the man who had just walked in, a gangly blonde with a long face and long hair to match, sporting a goofy smile. Musa could feel his jubilance from across the entire pub, and it lifted her spirits enough that she even let out a small giggle.

"Him? Why do you hate him? Do you even know him?"

Charlie scoffed and turned away from the man's view. Her chin was held higher than Musa had ever seen her purposefully hold herself, and the princess cocked an eyebrow at the gesture. "Of course I know 'im," Charlie groused. "He's some small-time aspiring folk singer. Most of his audience are forced to listen to 'im due to the fact that he's taken to playing in old folks' homes." She shook her head and mumbled, "The poor dying lot of 'em."

Musa glanced back at the man and then to Charlie. "That's it? He sounds like a nice guy."

"No," Charlie protested. "He's not _nice_, Musa. He's annoying. And he's the wimpiest guy in all of existence." Musa cracked a smile and opened her mouth to respond, but Charlie's thick accented voice cut her off. "'Onestly, Musa, you could go up and threaten to fight 'im and he'd still run away shrieking like a posh school girl who got her 'air pulled."

Musa watched, bewildered, as Charlie threw back the rest of her beer and glowered at the wall.

"Charlie, you—"

"He disgusts me, Musa. Let's leave it at that."

•○

Musa's mind was fuzzy around the edges and her tongue and cheeks had long since gone fairly numb. She couldn't really remember when they had moved from their barstools at the counter to the couch where they sat, but she guessed by the cautious glances the bartender kept throwing them, it was a while ago.

One thing about Charlie that Musa had always simultaneously hated and admired was her ability to make herself completely at home no matter where she was. She would make herself comfortable even if doing so put others out entirely.

Musa leant back into the worn out cushions on the couch, her legs crossed demurely. Charlie had sprawled across the entire length of the couch, with one leg spanned across the top and her head resting on Musa's lap. Her arms waved in a showy fashion as she rambled on, as though extreme gestures would emphasize her point and make her sound more credible.

"Libby doesn't even appreciate the work I do, Musa. He took a six hour break today and I had to man the bloody kitchen _and_ house—which is not hygienic, even in a grimy joint like 'ee runs. An then 'ee came back and chewed me out for half an 'our about not doing my bloody job. 'Ow can I when I'm doing 'is?"

Musa shook her head. "I told you you should leave."

"No!" Charlie flipped onto her stomach and stared up at Musa with her neck strained back. "I've got a vendetta against 'im. I'm not leaving till my knife draws blood." She slumped back onto the couch again and Musa thought for half a second that she might have talked herself into unconsciousness. Then she bolted up, scrambling for purchase on the over-sized shabby couch. "I hate him, Musa."

"I hate him too. That's why I quit."

"No, no, no." Charlie waved her hands dismissively and shook her head, seeming to sort through her jumbled thoughts with too-wide eyes. "I'm not talking about the grease-meister. I'm talking about Cedric."

The blue-haired fairy furrowed her brows. She replayed to her best ability every conversation she could remember with the thief, and she couldn't for the life of her remember a 'Cedric' ever being mentioned.

"Who's that?" Musa internally kicked herself for not being able to form a more eloquent way of asking the question. Eloquent? As an afterthought, Musa remembered that eloquence wasn't really her forte anyway.

A long arm passed in front of Musa's face, nearly smacking her clear in the nose. The finger attached to the arm pointed waveringly to the tall blonde that she'd made digs at earlier that night when he walked in. "Cedric, Musa. Who'd you think I was talking about?"

"You already told me you hate him."

"But I really _hate_ him." Charlie wrapped her arms around her shoulders, peering up at Musa with shining sage eyes. "You don't get how much I hate him. Every day I see 'im, and he tried _so hard_."

Musa shook her head. "I don't understand, Charls." And she honestly didn't. The man played music—poorly written music if his performance twenty minutes ago signified anything—for the elderly. She couldn't understand why that would entail so much disdain.

"He's just so wonderful. You don't understand how wonderful he is. He used to show up at my home and bring me little bouquets of flowers. No one ever gives me flowers, Musa." Charlie giggled, and Musa jumped at the foreign sound. "He wrote me songs. That one that he sang earlier was one of mine."

"It was about a bumblebee and a daisy."

Charlie's face contorted into an odd expression of joy and sorrow. "I," she patted her chest where her heart was with her palms, "was the flower. Isn't that beautiful, Musa? He's a poet. You're a poet too, but he's a _man_ poet."

It was as though the buzz that had clouded her mind had suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a confusing warped sensation. Musa glanced around uncomfortably, but that didn't deter Charlie at all.

"Look at him over there making fancy with busty Brenda. He's such a tosser. He doesn't even know a good thing when it's right in front of 'is face. Like me. I'm a good thing." She tilted her head and stared up at her quiet friend. "I'm good, right? Like, I could be good for him?"

"You're good when you're not threatening to kill someone for looking at you funny, yeah. And I'm not sure how good you can be for him if you hate him when you're sober."

"But I don't _really_ hate him. I mean," Charlie rolled onto the floor and Musa was torn between laughing and attempting to help her. A second later she popped up, kneeling against Musa's knees like a puppy waiting for a treat. "I do hate him. But I hate him the same way that you hate Riven, so that means I really love him."

Musa cleared her throat. "Why don't you go over and talk to him, then?"

She really wasn't grateful for the reminder of her feelings for the red-headed Elite. Images of him flooded into her mind, with the phantom caress of his fingers against her skin and the swirling fanfare that only he could turn her mind to.

Charlie's lips fell into a pout. "I can't. It'd breach the restraining order."

Blue eyes flew wide open and she glanced between the blonde and her friend. "He has a restraining order against you?"

Charlie scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous." Musa watched her stare longingly at the smiling man and held her breath waiting for a semblance of an explanation. At long last, Charlie sighed and shrugged, pulling her eyes away from him.

Her eyes rolled flippantly and bore into Musa's. "I have one against him."

* * *

Ugh, Charlie. Anyway. I'm doing my best to finish this up for you guys.

Leave me reviews, lovelies!

~balai


End file.
